The day Walt left was uneventful. After spending so much time dreading it, the actual moment came and went. One morning the family ate breakfast together. Then, they were hugging each other goodbye before their dad drove Walt to the airport.

Arthur didn't cry, and for that, he was glad. Instead, he smiled at Walt's comment that he would be calling and writing. He was able to maintain the smile when Walt told him to remember everything they talked about recently even though it was a struggle to keep his expression positive.

Then, as if it happened all the time, Walt was gone, and life continued. At first, things were the same. Arthur spent so much time alone that he could easily forget Walt was gone. At least, he could forget until he needed him. Walt's absence was like a scratch in the back of Arthur's head. He felt it during dinner when they would normally make faces at each other about how ridiculous their family was being. He felt it in the moments when he found himself walking to Walt's room to talk.

He felt it at night sitting in bed. At those times, he would sit at his desk and write. Words didn't come the way he wanted. Half written letters filled his trash can on the few nights that he didn't sneak out. Those nights were becoming scarce; the nights he went out were becoming blurrier and blurrier.

Money was still a problem, but less so than it was before. He could sneak cash from his mom's purse and dad's wallet sometimes without them knowing. It didn't take much to get some free drinks, and once the drinks were in him, it wasn't hard to exchange some favors for whatever Ivan had that night. Usually, he liked saving cash for that, but Ivan wasn't unattractive, and it was worth it.

Arthur sat at his desk with his head in his hands. He couldn't sleep. Everything felt off. His chest was tight and uncomfortable. Sighing, he eyed his window. He could use a night out, but just didn't have the energy. Pushing himself up straight, he grabbed a spiral notebook and opened it to a random page.

He began to write:

Dear Walt,

How are you? I've been okay, but things are getting

He erased the second sentence and tried again.

I've been okay, but the family is still crazy, as usual. I need to tell you something about what I've been up too.

He erased and tried two more times before crossing it out. His scribbling became erratic. The pencil pressed so hard into the paper it ripped. He stood and threw the whole notebook on the bed breathing heavily. The short outburst calmed him down a little, he sighed running a hand through his hair before grabbing the notebook from his bed.

Tonight wasn't the night to write this, but the letter needed to be written soon. He would rather Walt hear about things before anything happened with the family. It was only a matter of time before they cornered Arthur about what he has been up to. He looked at the second desk drawer from the top. Also a matter of time before someone goes searching his stuff.

He wasn't a complete idiot. They were onto him. His parents had been giving him looks, some questioning, some curious, some knowing. They probably are in the process of figuring out that he is gone most nights. With the amount he sleeps in, it couldn't be hard to guess. Scott was even worse. He would ask Arthur seemingly random probing questions about life. He was trying to put things together and was likely getting close.

Just yesterday, he asked what Arthur was doing at night because he heard a bang coming from his room in the middle of the night. Arthur was out of it when he came home and tripped stepping through the window. He told some lie about falling out of bed, but he could only get away with lies like that for a little while. He didn't know what he would get out of telling Walt, but he needed to at least hint at something before it was his parents spreading rumors during a weekly phone call.

He eyed the window again. It was tempting, but not worth it. Tomorrow was the first joint-family dinner since Walt left, and he needed to be at least a little rested. Francis was coming, and it would do him no good to be hungover. Instead he forced himself to go to sleep and tried not to think about tomorrow.

Sadly, time is a thing that exists, and when he woke up tomorrow had arrived. He tried to shower to wake himself up, but the water could only do so much. He felt exhausted. Post-shower he trudged downstairs to where the rest of his family was. His mom was in the kitchen prepping stuff for their upcoming dinner, and Scott was finishing a late breakfast at the table. Arthur had no idea where his dad was. He greeted his mom, grabbed something to eat, and sat down in front of Scott.

"You look well rested," Scott observed sarcastically

Arthur rubbed at his face. "Had trouble sleeping."

"Seems to happen a lot."

"Yeah, I've been having nightmares."

"Oh, that sucks."

"Last night I had a bad one."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Nah, I'm just annoyed about it." Scott nodded in understanding. As he got up to put his plate away, he patted Arthur on the back.

Arthur did want to talk about it, but had no idea where to start.

The dream had felt so real despite being ADJECTIVE. He was upstairs when his mom called him down for dinner. He almost tripped down the oddly tall stairs when he stopped abruptly noticing that he was wearing his going out clothes. The yelling of his family grew louder and more erratic as he quickly changed and bounded down the stairs.

The run to the dinner table was long and exhausting. Suddenly, he found himself tiny, the chairs and table giant, towering over him ominously.

He dad's voice echoed down at him, "You're late! Get up here and join us."

His family demanded him and mocked him, their tones growing more and more agitated and angry ad he struggled to climb the leg of his chair.

"I can't. I can't," he gasped out having once again fallen. "I can't find my way up."

Walt's voice floated down. "Maybe you could climb better if you were being yourself."

Arthur's clothes changed back to the originals. He tried again trying to reach Walt's fleeting encouraging words, but to no avail.

The voices were threatening now, insulting, yelling.

As he finally got close to the top, he fell again from the tall height and woke in a sweat as his body hit the ground.

Arthur dreaded the family dinner - the first without Walt. The whole situation was strange. He never spent much time with Walt on these nights, preferring to talk with Francis, but the weight of his absence hung over the family in the hours before the Bonnefoys were to arrive. Maybe it was because they haven't had a dinner in a while. Maybe it was because his parents' attentions were split between two sons instead of over three. Either way, Arthur felt claustrophobic.

At first he felt listless. No amount of potential energy within him could get him through the day and into the evening. Now that the dinner was fast approaching, he felt anxious. He sat on a chair downstairs picking at his sweater as if pulling a loose string could unwind him mentally the same way it would unwind the seam.

He was happy about seeing Francis. He knew he was. Francis was one of the most enjoyable people to be around, and he never really judged Arthur. Yet, he still fidgeted, his chest tightening at the prospect of the table being one chair less full. He needed to calm down. He needed a good uplifting. He really needed it, but the Bonnefoys would arrive at any second, and it really was not the time. He could power through until after dinner.

Fuck, he should have gone out last night.

Arthur stood prepared to go upstairs for a distraction. He could work on reworking more poems into lyrics. As he began to move, the doorbell rang. Scott hopped up from another chair throwing a book he was reading onto it.

"Wow, Artie, it's like you have a sixth sense," he patted Arthur on the shoulder on his way to the now opening door.

The house seemed to erupt with noise at the arrival of the Bonnefoys. It was as if the building woke up everytime they arrived, filling it with life. Sometimes, Arthur forgot how much energy the three people had. In a way, it was contagious just to be around them.

The families greeted each other. Mrs Bonnefoy loudly bemoaned the absence of Walt, but told everyone to pass on her congratulations. As she followed Mrs. Kirkland into the kitchen, Francis turned the Arthur with a grin.

"Nice to see you again, Arthur."

"Nice seeing you too, Francis."

"Also nice to see you're feeling better," he teased.

Arthur quickly glanced into the living room where his father and Scott were sitting with Mr. Bonnefoy. He shot a glare at Francis and accused, "Really?"

Francis shrugged. "You can't expect me not to tease you at least a little. It was the middle of the night."

Arthur rubbed at his neck. "Sorry about that."

"No need to apologize." Francis shasheyed past Arthur towards the stairs. He paused and turned back towards Arthur. "Come on."

Arthur tried not to pay attention to Scott's eyes watching them ascend the stairs. Instead, he focused on bantering with Francis. Arthur lounged on the bed watching as Francis walked around talking animatedly while not so subtly going through Arthur's things.

Francis gossiped about some people he knew as he looked at the desk. He reached for the second drawer from the top.

"How about you not go through literally everything, yeah?"

Francis lifted his hands in mock surrender. "Whatever you say, Sir Arthur."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I'm not that conceited, and having boundaries does not make me some sort of tyrant."

"Very true," Francis commented while nicking a notebook out of the top drawer and plopping on the bed next to Arthur.

From his spot leaning against the wall, Arthur watched as Francis laid on his stomach casually thumbing through it. His eyes dragged up and down Francis's prone form. Francis's eyes ran back and forth across pages skimming messily written words. Familiar pages were flipped through quickly until he paused on something new.

"What's this?" He turned the book slightly so that Arthur could see. On the left side was a poem he wrote. A different color marked it up and rewrote parts of it on the right side where he went back in pencil to write and rewrite parts of it. Arrows pointed back and forth over the page, some bolded and others crossed out.

"I was reworking some old poems; trying to make them more lyrical."

Francis's face lit up. "You're writing songs?"

Arthur tried to shrug off the tonal praise. "I'm just seeing if there's anything there."

"Is it for your project with Vlad?" Francis enthused.

Arthur paused. He almost asked Francis how he knew about Vlad. Then, he remembered Francis was friends with Torris and Felix, the same people who introduced him to Vlad in the first place. Stress started to bubble inside him. He didn't run into them often, but he still occasionally saw them. Were they telling Francis about what he's been up to? Informing Francis on his habits? He shifted uneasily. The world was too fucking small.

"I didn't realize you knew about that."

"I only know you were considering working on a music thing with him."

"Still considering."

Francis deflated, "You haven't started?"

"I've been really busy and caught up in some stuff. He gets it. He has other things he can work on. It's fine."

Francis ran his hand over the page. "I know you don't think I get you, but I think you'd like it."

Arthur huffed.

Francis smirked at him. "The look definitely suited you."

"You really want to bring that up?"

"Wasn't the worst night of my life."

"I'm sure that would be having a wasted guy show up at your doorstep who chewed you out the last time you saw him."

Francis rolled onto his back and laughed. "Oh, you know that was entertaining as hell."

"More like embarrassing."

"It started pretty good," Francis shrugged and tilted his head up to peer at Arthur, "and the morning was nice."

Arthur put his face in his hands not wanting to actually see the conversation taking place in front of him. He groaned, "The only thing good about it was breakfast."

Francis rolled again so he could be on his elbows and look up at Arthur. "It was good?" Francis hoped.

Arthur huffed and lifted his head, "You know it was." Francis beamed.

Arthur flicked his eyes forwards ignoring the flutters Francis's smiling face gave him. "So you and Vlad are friends?"

"Not really. I've met him once… maybe twice? But I'm good friends with Felix, and he mentions him a lot. It's a small community. I feel like you at least vaguely know of everyone after a while."

Arthur stiffened. "Everyone?"

"I mean, it's a bit of an exaggeration, but you know. Everyone is a friend of a friend of a friend. Then, you get people like Felix who love to gossip." Francis was nonchalant as if everything he said was a universal experience.

Arthur pictured everyone he knew connecting lines between them. Tracing the strands to see how many connected to Francis or his family. How many people removed were they from his second life? How risky were all the people whose faces were just blurs in his memory? His family were removed enough. Francis was another worry. He pictured Felix, Torris, Raivis - no not Raivis - just Ivan. Arthur glanced at Francis who had grabbed the notebook again. His chest tightened. It was hard having a person bridging his two lives no matter how hard he tried to keep everything separate.

He could see the future where everything he was making for himself crumbled. His fingers began wringing, pulling at each other, nails scratching at unkempt nail beds. He needed to get a grip. He was unnecessarily nervous. He could artificially regulate those feelings later. Not now.

"Hey, guys?" Scott commented leaning against the doorframe. He pointedly avoided making eye contact with Francis.

"Dinners almost done." He glanced at Francis briefly with disdain.

"What?" Francis bit out. Scott shook his head and looked at Arthur. He wasn't sure what propelled him to do it but after glancing between them, Arthur raised a questioning eyebrow at Scott. He immediately regretted it. Attempts to make his face appear casual and simply curious may or may not have been successful.

"Why do you have to be so against me all the time, Scott?" Francis demanded. Francis moved to sit on the edge of the bed, notebook forgotten. Arthur wanted to close his eyes to avoid what was happening. Like a car crash, he couldn't look away.

Scott shot Francis a disgusted look. "I think it's obvious I don't like you, but you're a guest, and I shouldn't spend time insulting you."

Francis stood up only a few feet separating him and Scott. "Your behavior is already insulting so might as well talk."

"You already know," Scott huffed as if he saw Francis's aggression with a mixture of amusement and pity.

"Enlighten me."

"Don't think you hide anything about yourself with how feminine you are."

Francis narrowed his eyes. Scott took two steps closer narrowing the distance between them to nothing. He glared into Francis's equally angry eyes.

In a whisper he threatened, "You're not getting anything from Arthur. Stop trying to fuck him up like you."

They stood still for a moment before Scott sniffed and stepped back. He turned towards Arthur who sat unmoving on the bed. "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. You should head down soon." With one last threatening look at Francis, he left.

Arthur couldn't see Francis's expression from his point-of-view. Judging his posture, it couldn't be good. Arthur would have been more than shaken up if he was Francis. He shuffled to the end of the bed to be closer to him.

"Sorry," he muttered.

Francis whipped he head to look at Arthur in surprise. His eyes were watery with unshed tears. His expression changed to something softer as he spoke in a quiet voice. "I'm sorry you have to live with that, Arthur."

Arthur swallowed. "Just the average protective older brother, you know?" He hated the way Francis's eyes crinkled with pity. To distract himself he stood up and hugged Francis until the surprise passed and he was being hugged back.

Pulling away he asked, "Are you going to be okay?"

Francis's mouth quirked up at the edges. "People say much worse things. It just sucks that it's your brother." He rubbed at his face and slapped his cheeks lightly to rub away the sadness and put on a normal expression. "We should go back downstairs before they have to call us."

Arthur nodded. "I'll follow you. I just need to grab something."

"Okay."

Francis went downstairs. Arthur followed not long after.

Dinner was not good by any means. Mrs. Kirkland started cooking before Mrs. Bonnefoy could help prep, so it wasn't as edible as usual. Francis was quiet. He would stare off when there were lulls in the conversation remembering what happened upstairs. Arthur hated seeing Francis like that. It was worse than the times they fought. Compared to this, their fights were like light teasing, flirting even, Francis didn't dwell on the things Arthur said like the way he seemed to be dwelling on Scott.

Although, it was particularly hard to stop dwelling on what happened upstairs when Scott seemed to be trying to fit jabs at Francis into conversation. The comments were sneaky, well-planned. Arthur didn't even notice it was happening at first. Without Walt, the table seemed often having one conversation or to be split into two. An offhand comment here or there was easy to add.

Guilt invaded Arthur's chest. Given the chance to relive the moment, he didn't think that he would stand up for Francis, but he should have. His involvement was why all this was happening. Occasionally, he made eye contact with Scott. Guilt turned to worry. He was in no mental space to deal with any fallout right now.

With a sigh, he scratched at his forehead. His emotions were horrible today. Dinner had just begun, and he was already unraveling at the seams.

"Oh, yes, you'll love her Arthur!" Mrs. Bonnefoy beamed half to Mrs. Kirkland and half to Arthur.

"What?" Arthur looked around. Francis was jabbing at his food being no help to figuring out why he was mentioned.

The ladies laughed.

Mrs. Kirkland explained, "Francis' cousin is coming to visit next week." She turned back to Mrs. Bonnefoy. "Oh, you'll just have to come over with her." The ladies devolved into talking about next week's dinner plans.

"It could be good to have a girl your age over, Arthur," Mr. Kirkland stated.

"Yeah, Arthur," Scott agreed giving him a significant look.

"Oh, you'd be cute together," Mrs. Bonnefoy joked.

Arthur turned to Francis. "What's she like?"

He shrugged. "Outgoing. I think she likes books maybe?"

Arthur huffed, "I expect everyone in your family to be outgoing." He paused and looked around the table. Scott was splitting attention between Arthur and the adults who were planning the dinner party and making a few jokes about Arthur. Francis listened to them casually. No one but Arthur noticed he was eating quickly as if looking for something to be doing.

This was a nightmare.

He couldn't handle this.

"I'll be right back," he said standing from the table. His father nodded in acknowledgement, and the table went back to its chatter. Francis watched him walk away concern bleeding into his attempt to maintain a stoic expression. Arthur never left in the middle of one of their dinners, especially when they were having a conversation. There may have been a lul, but Francis was about to ask about some poems he had read recently.

Once Arthur disappeared, he turned back to his plate and moved some of the food around with his fork. He shot a glance at Scott, but the oldest Kirkland son was deep in conversation with the other men. In that moment, he made a graceful and totally not ugly face at him before going back to moving food around. Scott was an asshole and probably one of the many reasons Arthur was struggling so much.

Francis could read between the lines. Literally. At this point, he read through almost every notebook of Arthur's that he could find. They may have been mostly poems with some prose snuck in, but some of the pages read more like journals. Added with the time he spent with Arthur, he felt like he really understood the way he was constantly pulled in different directions. There was an all or nothing connotation when Arthur thought about his family and what their support and love meant. It was one thing to understand and another to witness it.

What was strange was Arthur's behavior. He seemed more off than usual starting long before Walt announced he was leaving. Francis nibbled on his food as he dwelled on Arthur's behavior. A lot could be written off as figuring himself out, and Francis had to let him do that. Judging by the other night, there was a lot going on. Francis smiled to himself thinking about parts of it. He felt bad about the circumstances, but a kiss was still a kiss. He'd enjoy it for what it was, and hope that Arthur realized there was more to life than his family.

It took awhile for Arthur to return to the table - not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for Francis to question if he was okay. Luckily, Arthur returned and sat down before Francis decided to do anything about it. Arthur began eating leisurely.

"You okay?"

"I'm great. Feeling really good. Food's just sitting weird, but you got to eat, you know?"

Francis watched Arthur intently. "Read anything good recently?"

"Oh, yeah. I finished Pride and Prejudice I guess it was last night? Great book. There's a lot of interesting things that could be done with it like I have so many ideas about that upper class romance stuff. It's great," Arthur rambled pausing only to eat small bites of food.

Francis hummed, "It's one of my favorites."

Arthur glanced at Francis. "Yeah."

Tilting his head Francis raised one eyebrow. Then, he narrowed in on something. "You have something on your face." He gestured vaguely to his upper lip.

Arthur paused. He grabbed his napkin and ran it over his face pulling it away to look at it. The tiniest dark streak stained the white.

"Shit," he muttered and put the napkin back on his face.

"Nosebleed?"

Arthur dabbed at his nose until blood stopped showing up on the napkin. "Just a little. Nothing major. See already stopped."

"That sucks."

Arthur focused on refolding the napkin to avoid looking at Francis. "Not a big deal."

Francis nodded in acknowledgement and took a sip of water still watching his friend.

Arthur nodded at the other end of the table. "Are they still talking about me?"

Francis glanced. "I don't think so."

Arthur muttered, "I fucking hate when they talk about me."

"Are you okay?" Francis whispered making sure no one else was listening.

"I feel great, seriously, it's just when I…" he waved his hand around his head, "sometimes I get a little, you know? Actually." He shook his head. "Pretend I didn't say anything, okay?"

Francis stared. Then, he leaned closer. "Arthur."

Arthur closed his eyes. He shook his head and smiled bitterly. He knew what was happening, and the fact Francis was catching on was infuriating. He may not be good at hiding it, but he at least hoped he wasn't being this obvious.

Francis shook his head and let out a sigh as if Arthur already answered his unspoken questioned. "Arthur, are you high," Francis accused quietly.

"Don't be crazy." Arthur grabbed his empty plate and Francis's. He stood up. "Scott?"

"Yeah?" Scott turned away from whatever the rest of the table was talking about.

"Want me to take your plate?"

"Sure." Scott handed his to Arthur and turned back to listen to what Mr. Bonnefoy was saying. Arthur disappeared into the kitchen. The movements happened fast. One moment Arthur was there, and the next he was gone. Francis stared at the empty chair next to him.

For some reason, Francis didn't feel too surprised. He felt as if he always had a suspicion, especially after Arthur showed up to his house. He rubbed a hand on his face. There were a lot of people he wanted to talk to and a lot of things to think about.

A/N: An update for Thanksgiving! I'm really excited about some of the upcoming stuff. I have a lot of gaps where I have to write scenes, but hopefully it won't take too long. Sorry for the late update, I'm having some motivation troubles with my creative work.

Also, I've been slowly archiving BWTB to AO3 when I can't get myself to write but have free time, and will slowly put this fic there too for those who use AO3. (No idea what the crossover is for the userbase).

You'll hear again from me soon. Thanks.