A ghost of the early hours, Arthur crept down the stairs, moving cautiously so as not to wake the man he wished to avoid a conversation with. Breath hitching as a low creak came from the boards beneath his feet he stood, statuesque, listening for any sign of movement from down the hall but the house remained silent. He moved on, drifting with the lightness of a shadow, reaching the bottom of the one-story flight. With a small sigh of relief, he continued down the hall, all clear, until he passed the doorway where a croaking voice addressed him.

"Arthur?"

He stopped, as though he might blend into the background if he stayed still long enough, and saw the darkened form of a face rise from behind its pillow to squint at him with sleep shrouded eyes.

"I am sorry," Francis apologised without hesitation, not wanting to drag the situation on any longer than his partner.

Inhaling deeply, Arthur seconded the thought. "Me too," he breathed, guilty as he knew he should have been the one to say it first.

At relative peace once more, Francis gave a tired smile and pouted for a kiss to which the other obliged. Their lips pressed together with tenderness and a hint of regret at the wasted minutes spent apart. Feeling a hand snake up into his hair, Arthur pulled away, afraid of being enticed, licking the moisture from his lips, the corners of his mouth tugging upward, coyly.

"I'll see you later," he murmured.

Trailing his hand down the other's warm neck and over his shoulder, the older man gazed lovingly up, visibly ragged after the previous night. "Have a wonderful day, mon ange," he wished his lover.

The thinly veiled infatuation that resided behind those cyan eyes seeped through to their forefront, blinking up with such affection that a blush reddened Arthur's face. He leant over the arm of the sofa to place an adoring kiss on the Frenchman's forehead, the scent of his knotted hair engulfing him, a scent that hadn't changed since the day they met and never failed to bring him back to that time. He could feel Francis lean into the contact and it pulled at his heart strings to move away, allowing his lips to ghost over the pale skin before stepping back. Still looking up with longing eyes, a few shades less desperate than they had been the night before, the older man's lips curved into a smile. If actions spoke louder than words, then Arthur had just screamed his feelings from the rooftops and nothing more needed to be said on the subject.

Each morning was more bitterly cold than the last and the air stung his cheeks on impact, scraping at it with claws of ice. Fastening the top button of his coat to shield his exposed neck from the attack, Arthur buried his face down into it as he began to walk, hands shoved deep into his pockets, only brought out to show some affection to the familiar furry friend he met half way to the bus stop.

Although nothing wildly out of the ordinary had taken place that day, something about it felt different. The kind of feeling that was impossible to put a name to, to explain even, yet is familiar. Unsure what had caused such a sensation, Arthur was intrigued as to where it may lead him and so, quite spontaneously, allowed it to take a hold of him, becoming, almost, a spectator in his own life.

Leaving the domesticated creature behind, he moved on, disjointed but happy about it. He felt himself veering off down a side road he rarely took, strolling almost the full length of it until he came to an off licence. There was a buzzing as he pushed the door open to alert the shop keep of his presence but other than that the place was quiet. It took him a few moments to find what he had come in for as he meandered through the isles to, eventually, find a rack of buckets which held several meagre bunches of flowers. Surprisingly, amongst them was the specific bloom he had in mind and, even though they were hardly the most stunning roses, Arthur took them up to the counter.

"£6.70, please," the attendant politely requested, prompting Arthur to pull out his card and slot it into the machine. "That's an extra pound charge," the relatively young-looking man behind the counter informed him.

"That's fine," Arthur replied, "I feel like living life on the edge today."

He caught even himself off guard with the out of nowhere, witty remark and the attendant chuckled. "Well don't go too crazy," he passed the plastic money back with a receipt, "Have a nice day."

"You too," the words came from the Englishman's mouth despite the fact he had not thought to say them and, even stranger, they were meant.

Paying more attention to the flowers than what direction he was going in, Arthur's body instinctually knew the rout to any destination within the small, outer city town, having lived there the entirety of his life. He picked at the velvet petals, flicking away specks of dirt as even the tiniest imperfection seemed to spoil their purity, and anything less than perfect simply wouldn't do.

Not far off in the distance, half shielded by newer, taller, buildings, stood the dilapidated old steeple of the church, climbing up to the heavens, still as Arthur remembered it from his youth. All those painfully early Sunday mornings spent in the ancient hall with a congregation just as old, mouthing the words to songs and prayers he didn't understand. Rain or shine, or even snow occasionally, his mother would force him out of bed every week, doing the same with Alfred and Matthew when they came along, stuff them all into their best clothes and drag them down for the weekend service, not a single one missed. Until they were old enough to form their own opinions, that is, as at the age of fourteen Arthur had finally had enough and the younger two boys had soon followed his example, much to their mother's disappointment. Although she had been accepting of their decision, Arthur had always carried a certain amount of remorse over this as he knew it had hurt her feelings, however much she had assured them it was their choice. Despite this, he remained pessimistically agnostic on the whole situation. He had nothing against those who followed a faith, even envying them at times, but it just never made any sense to him.

Drawing closer, the slate roof of the main hall became visible, holes where tiles were missing more numerous each time he visited, as did the stained-glass windows, depicting the saints of old that had seemed to stare down at him as he sat on those rock-hard pews, doing his best not to fidget under their scrutiny. Perhaps that was why he could never subscribe to Christianity, he felt judged enough already.

The gates he eventually came to were rusted and let out a wailing creak when he forced them open onto the dirt path that led to the church door. He followed the track, however, didn't enter the building, veering off to walk around the side of the crumbling brick walls and to the back where a secluded section lay hidden. Pushing through another gate, this one in a further state of disrepair, he paused, looking over the small patch of sacred ground, before proceeding.

It was a peaceful place, the roar of traffic cancelled out by surrounding hedgerows and, although there was dense city not a mile away, it was as though someone had ripped some rustic, country church from its natural habitat and dumped it just outside of London. Yet it remained hidden by the walls of greenery and the sanctity of religion. The living only ruined things, this was a place for the dead.

Graves were scattered unevenly through the yard, some well-kept and others in need of attention, their headstones simple with only dates and brief epitaphs etched into them. Browsing the ones he passed by, Arthur wondered what would end up on his, probably not much. He may not have been a religious man but he could see the appeal in a place like this. There was a certain comfort to it, a homely feeling, as though some force shielded it from the reality of time.

Meandering his way through the stones, he stopped before one that he could remember choosing himself. With a smile, he knelt close to it and replaced the wilted bouquet from his last visit with the fresh one he'd just bought. He glanced over his shoulder quickly then, safe in the knowledge that he was alone, struck up a solitary conversation.

"Hi mum," he started in his usual manner, "I'm sorry it's been a while but there's been a lot going on."

Sighing lightly, some of the stress, built up to breaking point, seemed to be released and swept away by the tranquil mood. Several small weeds had begun to sprout in his absence and he plucked them from the soft soil as he continued to monologue.

"I should probably start with Alfred, his is the most interesting life, after all," he mused as he tore the leaves of the creeping buttercups he had pulled up, "he's caught the attention of some American talent scout. They invited him to try outs in America, so he might get a scholarship to play football over there." His tone had been relaxed but now became sombre, "He has it in his head that I don't want him to go." Eyes on the tattered plant in his hands, he spoke earnestly, for once, as there was no point lying to someone who wouldn't reprimand the truth, "I do, though. I want him to do well, I just…you know what he's like. I worry he won't come back, is all."

Going quiet like he expected some sort of advice to be given there was, of course, only silence.

"I know you would worry too," Arthur picked up the one-sided exchange, "but you would probably handle it better."

A breath of a laugh passed his lips, knowing his mother's response would be to tut and tell him he was too young to worry. However, that probably wouldn't be true, anymore.

"He leaves soon, I'll make sure he visits you first," he assured. Despite the fact he had been nagging Alfred to do so for weeks now, he still hadn't, much to the older man's annoyance.

The main reason he had come out of the way, Arthur turned his thoughts to lighter news, casually relaying the daily goings on of the family. "Matthew is doing well at school too. Very well, actually. He's one of the best in his class, not that he'd ever admit that himself but, I heard through one of his friends. Francis is enjoying work and I'm…fine too."

He hesitated only slightly, a lapse in his speech at having to turn the attention on himself, something he had never been comfortable with.

"The office is the same as ever, but I can't complain, at least I have a job," he updated to fill the void, afraid of allowing the silence to drag on for too long, "Oh, yes, and Ludwig and Feliciano got engaged just the other day. I don't know if you'd remember them. They've been together quite a while now."

Only the chirping of birds spoke back in a language he didn't know and so, with nothing more to say, Arthur stood, leaving the roses where they lay.

"I promise I won't leave it so long until next time," he vowed to the polished granite, "love you."

A tight smile contorted his lips as his surroundings remained deathly still, naught but the trees and the birds for physical company. Although not an outwardly affectionate person, Arthur never once felt strange admitting such an emotion in that place. He wasn't quite sure what he thought of life after death, it was highly unlikely, and he acknowledged that, but something about still speaking to someone who was long gone somehow staved off the thought of them as nothing more than a worm-eaten body, just bones and rot by that point. Wiping a final spec of dirt from the smooth surface of his mother's final resting place, the only living man in the little walled in space turned and left.

His entrance into the office garnered some attention as he arrived over an hour late to work due to his impulsive diversion. The fact that his daily routine was in tatters, for some reason, didn't bother him in the slightest and, had he been an optimistic man, he may have actually believed he was happy.

The sixth floor was teaming, people who usually didn't get in until after Arthur already working, some of them seeming confused by their colleague's appearance, checking their watches and pulling expressions of mild surprise. He ignored them, as ever, their attention not meaning much to him as he went to his office to find it already occupied.

"Good morning," he greeted, cheerier than usual, the trespassing German.

It was an amusing sight to see the intimidating frame of the stern man jolt as he was alerted of the other's presence. Turning to see the man whose office he was invading, Ludwig seemed uncomfortable, not that this was out of the ordinary, like he had been caught doing something he shouldn't be.

"Ah, guten morgen, Arthur. I was just looking for last week's figures," he explained himself, neatening a pile he had disrupted, making it look out of place against the rest of the room which stood in a state of disorganisation.

"Oh, right," Arthur located them immediately, the mess making sense to him, and handed them over.

Smiling tightly, Ludwig gave a nod and tucked the file under his arm. "I was beginning to wonder if you were not coming in," he commented on the other's unusual tardiness.

"Sorry, I had something to take care of at home," he made a white lie of an excuse.

"I understand," the taller man bobbed his head in a nod of agreement once more and made for the hallway, "have a good day."

They were not far apart in age, yet, when speaking to Ludwig, Arthur always felt as though he were speaking to someone beyond him in years, even though he was the elder of the two. He could remember their time in school together, as he had been two years below Arthur and Francis, Gilbert running up with his brother in tow to proudly show him off to his friends. Even then, he was the same, face straight, words serious, more like a middle-aged politician than an eleven-year-old boy. Strange to think he would be married soon.

Midday arrived almost as a shock to Arthur, as though it were something that had not been happening since the beginning of time, as did the rapping on the door of an unexpected visitor.

"Knock knock," Alfred imitated the sound of his actions, his golden head poking round the doorframe.

"Alfred?" Arthur's frown of confusion contrasted the smile that emerged below it at the caller, "What are you doing here?"

The younger man stuffed both hands into the pockets of his jeans and shrugged, "I finished early, wondered if you wanted to come out for lunch."

Pleasantly taken aback by the offer, the other blinked, his smile growing. "I would love to," he enthused, pulling on his coat without hesitation, "Where did you have in mind?"

"You told me about that café that's just a block away, I thought there?" Alfred recounted a conversation that had taken place longer ago than Arthur thought he would remember.

"Perfect," he agreed.

It didn't take them long to reach the eatery and, as they took their seats, it seemed they had arrived just in time as a short spurt of rain began to dampen the street. A cheery young woman brought over a pair of menus for them to browse but Arthur already knew what he would be getting as it was a place he had used to frequent. At first, he wondered why he had stopped coming but then remembered it was because the staff had started to recognise him and, out of some sort of deeply rooted, Londoner's instinct, this meant that he could never return.

"What are you getting?" Alfred enquired from behind the laminated sheet.

"The omelettes here are good," Arthur advised to aid his difficult decision.

The younger man hummed in thought, his expression humorously concentrated, and the waitress came over again, tiny note pad at the ready, and asked in an accent that Arthur couldn't quite place, "Ready to order?"

"Yes, thank you," the older man looked up to her smiling face, "I'll take an omelette with tea, please."

She promptly scribbled down what he had said and turned her attention to Alfred.

"Uh, yeah, um," the American boy seemed to lose the ability to speak as soon as they made eye contact, his own gaze darting wildly, "I will take the same, too, as well…please…" his words ran on and trailed away like some horrible car accident that just wouldn't end.

He received a puzzled look from the man across the table, but the waitress seemed to think nothing of it, making a note of the order and assuring them their food would arrive shortly then returning to the kitchen.

There was a moment of silence, wherein Alfred thought that, perhaps, his embarrassing slip up had gone unnoticed, but, alas, Arthur wasn't about to let something like that slide by.

"What, in God's name, was that?" he asked, bluntly, eyebrows raised in amusement.

Forcing a fake frown, as though he didn't know what the other was referring to, Alfred scoffed. "What was what?" he feigned ignorance.

Arthur, however, wasn't letting it go. "That…display," he pressed with a vague gesture at the other's general being to emphasise his bewilderment.

"Nothing, it was nothing," Alfred mumbled with a shrug, averting his eyes only for the waitress to walk by at that exact moment and, noticing she was being watched, flashed a bright smile. Becoming flustered, the usually confident teen quickly turned away.

Immediately recognising this pattern of behaviour, a smirk settled on the older man's lips.

"What?" Alfred caught the look he was being given.

"You like her, don't you?" Arthur came to the obvious conclusion, that smug grin stretching wider.

"Pft, no I don't," the other denied, only strengthening his brother's argument.

Rolling his eyes, Arthur would have none of it. "Oh, would you stop. I'm not stupid, I know that look," he tutted, "Why don't you ask her out?"

The American seemed about to reject the words of encouragement he was offered but then sighed, running a hand through his short hair. "I'd like to but…I don't know."

At the look of trepidation on his brother's face, the older sibling furrowed his borw. He wasn't used to seeing the rambunctious teen so hesitant, especially over a social situation.

"Why wouldn't you?" he questioned with a slight tilt of his head.

"I don't know, man," Alfred repeated, a look of uncertainty resting on his features, "I guess I'm just a little worried after what happened with Natalia. I mean, she was my first real girlfriend and, well, you saw how that ended. All five times."

His concerns were understandable, what with the disastrous relationship he had not long been freed from, but Arthur was, unusually, in no mood for pessimism.

"You can't let what happened in one relationship discourage you, Al. Some people just don't work together," he urged but was met with a less than enthusiastic grunt, "She's very pretty," he tried a different approach, swivelling around in his seat to look at the woman in question.

She was, indeed, a very attractive girl, her skin almost glowing a warm golden brown, with light hazel eyes and hair like mahogany that reached her waist, tied in pigtails.

"Yeah," the other man lamented, watching her also, pining almost.

"So, ask for her number," Arthur continued to push, gently, "take her out for dinner or whatever people do for a date these days."

"I know I make fun of you sometimes but you're not that old," Alfred joked with a smile.

Shaking his head, Arthur, again, rolled his eyes at his brother. "You know what I mean. I think it would be good for you."

"Yeah, I know," the younger man exhaled and adjusted his glasses, "Thanks for trying but I think I'd better leave it. I've already embarrassed myself enough."

Slightly disappointed, Arthur resisted the temptation to meddle in his sibling's life and soon their food was brought over.

Lunch passed in easy conversation, Alfred putting up with being teased over his little crush throughout, and the pair finished with enough time for Arthur to get back to work without having to rush.

"I'm paying this time, and don't argue with me," Alfred sternly announced, standing before the other could protest.

"Alright, if you really want to," the older man chuckled at his insistence, not feeling too bad about letting him pay for the cheap meal.

Going to the counter, Alfred made sure to leave a generous tip, and returned to find his former guardian hunched over the table in a peculiar fashion.

"What are you doing?" he addressed the other's turned back.

"I'm leaving that girl your number, you'll thank me later," Arthur could no longer resist the need to do what he thought best.

"What!" Alfred exclaimed as he lunged to grab the napkin with his phone number written on it, "That's not cool, dude, give it to me."

He was prevented from grasping it as the older man slid it out of his reach.

"The worst that can happen is she doesn't call," he rationalised, "It's worth a try."

Ceasing his struggles, Alfred pouted a little. "Fine," he relented, "but if she calls me just to laugh in my face it's on you," he exaggerated his anxieties.

"Something tells me that won't happen," Arthur softly chided and they left the building together.

Alfred was unfamiliar with the area and so trailed Arthur back to the office block where he was able to find his way home from. They stopped outside the automatic doors to say goodbye but the younger of the pair halted his brother from returning to work so fast.

"Hang on a second," he stopped the shorter man who turned back, an expectant look on his face. With a wry smile, Alfred spoke thoughtfully, "I wanted to say sorry again for last night. It didn't sit well with me and I didn't mean to hurt your feelings at all."

His ability to so easily admit his wrongs was something that Arthur both deeply admired and resented yet just couldn't fathom. His lips curving upward at the other's innocent expression, he still felt guilty over the whole thing.

"I told you, it's fine," he assured, wishing he could say the same back in return.

"I just needed to say it. I don't like worrying about you," the sentiment was strange to hear coming from someone else.

"Stop it, you're turning into me," he chastised to which the other laughed in his usual carefree manner.

"God forbid," he joked back, unaware that Arthur fully agreed, "See you soon?"

It may have been the unpredictable mood he was experiencing or perhaps he wasn't as immune to those puppy dog eyes as he would like to believe but, for whatever reason, a series of words he knew he would regret spilled from his mouth.

"I'll see you Saturday night," he promised his time away, much to the delight of the younger man.

"See, I knew you were still fun," he elbowed the other gently, prompting a smile, and grinned, beginning to walk away.

"Tell me if you hear from that girl," Arthur called after the retreating figure who shouted back, without turning around.

"Yes, mom."

Arthur watched the figure disperse into the crowd on the street, a light sigh slipping from him, and went the opposite direction only when the shining, golden head was gone from sight completely.

The arctic wind spurred Arthur home as he walked the length of his street, coat wrapped tightly around himself. Eagerly approaching the driveway, the illuminated kitchen window told him he had both a warm meal and a warm welcome to look forward to and so didn't wait a second to put his key into the lock. To his surprise, however, the door swung inwards with force as soon as he did so and behind it was the man he had so lovingly bid farewell earlier that day, scowling at him.

"I want to speak with you, monsieur," Francis stood in the hallway, stopping Arthur from crossing the threshold, "How could you not tell me!"

Frozen like a deer in the headlights, the ambushed man mentally ran through every possible mistake he could have made but came up blank.

Trying not to let this show on his face, he worded his response carefully. "What is it that you are referring to exactly?" he almost winced with the anticipation of a tongue lashing.

"This! I found it on the floor after you left, I cannot believe you!" Before him was presented the white envelope, he had received the day before, it's contents also being shown to him, "How could you not tell me they got engaged?"

Breathing a sigh of relief, Arthur's whole being relaxed. "Sorry, I forgot. Ludwig invited us to the engagement party yesterday," he explained what was already obvious.

"I should have been the first to know about this, mon dieu, how I adore a wedding," the overemotional Frenchman clutched the letter to his chest in a melodramatic fashion, his tone wistful.

The other laughed through his nose at the sight of his significant other behaving like a school girl in love and rolled his eyes. "They only just got engaged, don't get ahead of yourself."

"But, amour, how can you not be more excited?" the older man enthused, trailing after his partner, "Two people have vowed to love each other for the rest of time, it is beautiful, non?"

Shrugging a shoulder with a placid smile, Arthur didn't share his lover's elation to the same degree. "It's nice but it's just something people do," he expressed his underwhelming opinion.

"I do not know how you can be so unromantic," Francis frowned, disappointed, "Why am I still with you?"

"Green card?" Arthur joked, darkly, drawing a gasp from the foreign man.

"You are a bad person," he scolded, unable to hide his smirk, his own sense of humour, secretly, just as risqué.

Simply blowing a kiss in return, the other took the invitation and sealed it for safe keeping, leaving it by the door under their events calendar where he saw the date had already been circled.

"I told Feli we would be attending," Francis informed him then added with a pointed look, "and we are going."

"Yes, dear," Arthur drawled, playfully.

"You are awful," the other threw back, going to the kitchen, "Dinner is in five minutes."

To end the day without being relieved it was over made Arthur far happier than it should have. Sat with a smile on his lips and no more but trivial worries in the back of his mind life seemed manageable. Not perfect, but as close as it could be. This attitude must have shown on his face as the other man took note of it as he placed two plates on the table and took a seat.

"What are you smiling about?" he enquired.

Arthur shook his head and shrugged nonchalantly. "Nothing," he replied, "I just had a good day."

Keeping his eyes glued to the younger man, Francis found himself mirroring that same half transparent smile he held at these words. Although Arthur may have thought himself a good liar, his face read like a book and the Frenchman could always tell when something was genuinely meant. To hear something both positive and true from his partner seemed a thing to be treasured nowadays but still managed to make Francis' heart warm with joy.

"What?" Arthur interrupted his train of thought, drawing attention to the fact that Francis had been staring.

"Nothing, amour," he uttered, staring still, "I just wish to admire you."

The other knitted his robust brow in a mildly bemused manner. "I'll never understand the French," he mumbled.

Enjoying the quiet company, the house was in stark contrast of what it had been that time twenty-four hours prior, the mood warm and companionable. Francis didn't have much to share, having spent the day at home editing, and so let Arthur take control of the conversation which, surprisingly, he relished in.

"That is so sweet," Francis crooned in response to being told about Arthur and Alfred's impromptu lunch date.

"It was, I'm glad he came to see me," the other agreed.

Standing and clearing the table, Arthur dumped all the used utensils into the sink and begun to run a bowl of warm, soapy water. Luckily for them, there was never a dispute over who's turn it was to do the washing up as, since Francis always cooked, it only seemed fair that Arthur cleaned up afterwards.

"Perhaps you and I should have a lunch date sometime," Francis suggested.

Glancing over his shoulder, Arthur hummed. "Maybe," he half agreed.

A soft, sighing laugh came from the taller man. "Can you even remember the last date we went on?" he mused as he rose from his seat.

Although the question was rhetorical, Arthur cast his mind back, trying to remember their last outing that could have been considered a date.

"When we went to that black and white French film screening in Leicester Square," he recalled, "Do you remember? We got there an hour late and missed the only one you wanted to see because of the delays on the underground then it was pouring with rain when we got out and it ruined my suede jacket."

Francis had come to stand behind him as he rambled on about what he apparently remembered to be a fairly miserable night, leaning against the fridge door to his left.

"Why do always look at the negatives like that?" he shook his head gently.

"Because that's how it happened," Arthur responded, matter of factly, "The whole night was a disaster."

"Is that really how you recall it?" Francis seemed genuinely surprised, folding his arms and furrowing his brow lightly.

"Do you remember it differently?" the smaller man enquired.

"Well, not differently but you missed out all of the good things that happened," the more optimistic man spoke, reminiscing how he thought the evening had gone. "We were late and we did miss the first film but it did not bother me, I ended up liking the other ones more than I thought I would anyway. Then we left the theatre and it was raining so we went into a little bar to wait for it to stop and listened to that wonderful pianist and drank a whole bottle of wine," his voice was low and enticing as he moved to press his body against Arthur's back while he purred his recollection of events, winding both arms around the slim waist. "But it would not stop raining," he mumbled into his partner's ear and Arthur couldn't supress a shiver as the hot breath caressed his skin, "so we just had to run through it and by the time we made it to the station we were soaked to the bone."

Finding himself lulled into a state willing hypnosis, Arthur leaned back into the larger body, his head resting against the other's shoulder. "Well, if we did have a whole bottle of wine I'm not exactly shocked I don't remember that part."

A chuckle rumbled the chest he was pressed against, warm breath tousling his fringe as the Frenchman's stubbly chin rested on his shoulder. "It was a shame about that jacket, though. However, I am not too sympathetic," his leering smile foretold the lude comment that was to come next, "since I could hardly wait to rip it off you after we got home."

Rolling his eyes at the predictable direction his significant other took the conversation in, Arthur tutted. "I was waiting for you to ruin the story."

"Is it not a romantic note to leave it on?" Francis waggled an eyebrow in a suggestive manner to which the more modest of the two pursed his lips into and unimpressed line, flicking a handful of bubbles over his shoulder into his lover's face.

Spluttering as he received a mouthful of suds, Francis cursed and choked on the taste of dishwater, much to Arthur's amusement. Playfully glaring at the smaller man, who snickered behind his hand, a vindictive grin crept across the victim's face and he approached.

"Oh, mon cher, you will regret that," he jestingly threatened, lunging across the room.

By the time Arthur began to react, it was too late, as Francis had leapt to where he stood in one stride and caught him, holding him around his midriff with both arms pinned to his sides. Their faces close, the imprisoned man leant away as much as he could, squirming to get free.

"What the hell are you-" he started to question but was cut off when Francis started wiping his slimy, soap covered face against him, laughing maniacally and grinning like a madman.

Letting out a, not so manly, squeal at the unpleasant sensation, the younger man struggled harder to get away from his lunatic of a boyfriend, his undignified shrieks turning to shared laughter as the two disintegrated into a heap on the floor, both sticky and smelling of dirty dishes.

It took a while for the bouts of uncontrollable giggles to subside but, eventually, the pair calmed down and sat catching their breath on the kitchen floor.

"So, how about that lunch date?" Francis asked, still smiling like an idiot.

"Piss off," Arthur retorted, grinning just the same.

He shuffled away and rubbed at his cheek, finding it tacky to the touch. Grimacing at the feeling, he made to stand and announce his plans to shower but was stopped from leaving by a hand gripping his waistband. Looking back at the man who contained him, Arthur found himself met with that same, near irresistible, look he had escaped that morning, however, this time there was no reason not to give in to it.

Francis moved in to kiss him, not lustfully but it was clear where this kiss was intended to lead. The hand that held his trousers slid upwards to rest on the small of his back, it's touch gentle and warming, while the other held the curvature of his jaw. Arthur's own hands wandered, softly cupping his partner's neck, urging them closer together. The kiss deepened to the point it was no longer appropriate for outside of the bedroom, tongues becoming tentatively involved, and the smaller man's body arched into the larger one.

It was Arthur that parted them, smiling somewhat bashfully, conveying all he needed to with a look as he stood and made his way out of the room, pausing in the doorway to throw a glance back over his shoulder. At the inconspicuous hint, Francis practically chased after him, stumbling to his feet, and the two scampering up the stairs.

With the bedroom door allowing them some privacy, they resumed their activities, latching on to one another with lips and arms as they moved towards the bed. Lowering himself onto the mattress, Arthur slid over to allow enough space for another body to lay close, pulling the other down with him with a prolonged kiss. Stretched out across the bed, Francis pulled away, their faces still close.

"Let me go and freshen up," he murmured, pressing their lips together once more, drawing it out before separating and pushing himself up.

Letting his had slip from its loose hold, Arthur's lips retained the tingling sensation of warmth as he watched Francis' go, eyes drifting to a certain asset he couldn't help but admire. He heard footsteps to the bathroom then the door closing and found himself alone yet still with a smile on his face. In his solitude his mind strayed to reflect upon the strange mood he had been experiencing that day, still unable to find the root of what had caused it. He felt positively giddy for no reason at all.

Sighing contentedly, he went to go and close the curtains, looking out over the darkened street as he reached for the blinds, staring through the image that haunted in the glass. He couldn't remember the last time he had been so happy. He wondered when he would be this happy again. After all, happiness was not a permeant state, at least, not for him.

He frowned at the realisation. It wasn't something he had meant to think, almost like the idea had been forced into his head, but now it was there, and it was uncomfortable, impossible to ignore. A sense of anxiety crept in, twisting his organs, in anticipation of when the feeling would, inevitably, end and in doing so, like some sort of a cruel, self-fulfilling prophecy, ruined everything.

Outside the wind shook the trees, some of its chill creeping through the window which was opened just a minute crack, causing the man who stared out with increasingly deadened eyes to shiver. He grasped the handle and pulled the opening closed tightly, fastening it to be sure nothing else would infiltrate the warm room, and went back to staring with a vacuous expression but, this time, his line of view was blocked by the person that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

Two black holes where there should have been life watched him as he failed to see through the transparent man. Face white, cheeks hollow, lips cracked with patches of dark, blood and bruises all over them like he had some kind of disease. He was looking at a corpse and it disgusted him.

"Amour," the door hinges creaked and a voice called out in alluring tones, but Arthur was too fixated on the window pane to respond.

The version of himself that others saw blinked back at him, eyelids barely open with nothing behind them.

"Bonjour, rêveur?"

A second reflection appeared in the mirroring surface, looking so alive next to the first one that remained unmoving. It tilted its blonde head, and Arthur could feel its physical counterpart coming closer. His stomach churned as he watched his lover move to kiss the dead man's neck.

"Wait," he moved away, stepping out of view of the window to look at Francis who gazed back, loving and confused, "I'm sorry, I have work tomorrow, we shouldn't."

His eyes dropped to the floor, too guilty to look into the ones that watched him so innocently.

"It is not late, we have enough time to still get to bed at a reasonable hour," Francis tried to convince him, reaching out to take a hand that was instantly pulled away.

"Another night, Francis," Arthur began to draw into himself, his shoulders hanging, a look on his face like he had just committed some heinous crime he was trying to cover up, "I'm sorry."

Totally perplexed, Francis looked about to persuade him once more but instead shook his head and gave a small smile. "Do not apologise, we can just go to bed, cherie."

His kindness was painful, but Arthur nodded, finding the thought of someone wanting to touch him revolting, and made sure to turn off the light before he got changed. Climbing under the covers, Francis laid closer than was normal, the full length of his boy resting against Arthur's back as though he aimed for the optimum amount of contact.

More concerned than disappointed, the older man stayed quiet as he felt the other's breathing even out, the rise and fall of his fragile looking chest pressing against his arm, and his muscles relax. He found himself enduring, yet another, sleepless night as worry kept him up until the sun rose, pale pink over the rooftops, and another day resumed.

Working on a Saturday didn't seem like a strange thing to Arthur anymore, as it happened more often than not. In fact, he had come to see a six-day week as the norm. The task of waking up at an ungodly hour on the weekend to pull on that hideous straight jacket of a suit was depressing but something he now accepted without complaint and, as he fastened his tie, he neglected to check his appearance before going downstairs.

Leaving the house, he was greeted by the rasping call of the crows, the first and ugliest sound of the day, and turned to see one of the ominous birds perched on his neighbour's fence, beady eyes like black water surveying him. Even as he came close to it, close enough to reach out and snap its neck if he had wanted to, it didn't flinch, stoic and composed as a statue, watching. It was only after Arthur had passed by it that the winged creature jumped from its low roost, extending its sleek appendages and taking flight through the morning mist, disappearing over a rooftop.

The morning cool with bleak light, he walked, strides like the tick of a metronome. He turned his head to the side where he expected to see the little white face to pop up. When it didn't he paused, halting his routine and peering over the low wall to find the front garden empty. Although curious, there wasn't much time to spare, and, therefore, he carried on his pace, keeping an eye out for the missing cat. Before long he found it. A tail poking from under a bush. He crouched to see the still body. Eyes open, dried blood trailing from the button nose. Paralysed in non-expression at the sight, something inside him lurched yet he swallowed it down. There was nothing to be done, and so he left.

It wasn't until he was entering through the automatic doors that Arthur realised he had walked the entirety of the hours journey, his legs wavering beneath him, throat dry from panting. Some instinctual part of his brain told him that if he stopped moving he wouldn't be able to start again and, therefore, ignored the stares he was receiving and made his way up the stairwell, only half feeling the agony he had caused himself as the whole world seemed to be behind some sort of a screen, muted and far off.

Sat, breathing heavily, blurry eyes fixed on the blank monitor, some kind of a repeated ringing picked up in the background. In his dazed state it took him a while to respond to the invading stimulus but, eventually, semi focused on a figure in the doorway.

"Mr Kirkland?" Erika called as forcefully as she was able, still barely above a whisper, "What is the matter?"

"What's the matter?" he felt the need to echo.

"You look like something has upset you," the childish look of wholesome concern was enough to bring Arthur back into the moment briefly.

Catching his slanted reflection in the glass panel of the door which stood ajar, he saw his face marred with damp, red tracks, like scratch marks, that trickled from his eyes and nose.

"Nothing," he sputtered, wiping his cheeks with the heel of his palm as subtly as he could, "Nothing I'm fine…Uh, did you come to give me something?" he cleared his throat and looked at her expectantly.

Directing her gaze shyly at the floor, the tiny girl seemed to almost whimper, "No, Sir, I just came to say good morning."

"Oh," the older man felt instantly remorseful, "Good morning."

She gave an awkward nod and scampered away, shutting the door as she left.

Closed into seclusion with nothing but his mockingly joyful screensaver for company, Arthur logged in to the system, unable to look at the smiling faces of the past without feeling the sting of tears form behind his eyes.

Various e-mails from an assortment of angry colleagues came through until noon when the apathetic man turned off his notifications, bored to death by other people's issues with him when he had so many better reasons to feel the same way about himself. Managing to make no progress, he took a late lunch and, with half a pack of cigarettes and no appetite, what to do with the half hour he had left seemed obvious.

Other smokers that loitered by the potted plants outside the office seemed puzzled to see him as he lit up, further polluting the rancid city air. Snippets of their conversations floated by but Arthur didn't care to listen, an introspective mood taking over and the sudden need to isolate himself becoming all he could think of. Throat burning from the punishment it had endured, he tossed the empty pack into the nearest bin.

Coming back to his office in his unbroken trance, he almost didn't notice the unfamiliar object waiting for him. On the desk sat a plastic, take away cup, steam twirling up from the little hole in the lid. Curiously, he sniffed at the warm receptacle, recognising the smell of camomile tea. Strange; but he didn't think too much of it. He took a sip, scolding his tongue so that the flavour was obscured, the flavour of cold, autumn afternoons with his mother as they sat together in the kitchen listening to her favourite radio talk show, just the two of them.

Hours passed like they were being marched to the gallows, each one impossibly tedious but, eventually, Arthur locked up his broom cupboard for the remainder of the weekend, not planning on returning until Monday, and felt the phone in his hand vibrate as he did so. A text message from his significant other lit the screen, informing him he was already at the night's event then, shortly after, a second text appeared, reminding him of the dress code. With a loathsome sigh, the reluctant guest typed out a quick reply and left the building.

He was reminded that the weekend was halfway over already when he boarded the empty bus. A commuter's noose swung from the ceiling with the motion of the vehicle, the only occupant watching it with masked eyes. The air from his lungs left his mouth in a visible stream as the interior of the bus was barely warmer than it was outside, however, the feeling of being enclosed within a space gave the illusion that this wasn't so, causing Arthur to shiver as he stepped off it into the open. Beginning to walk home, he veered off down a side street, telling himself it was so he could visit the off licence for another pack of cigarettes and no other reason.

Sealed pack in his hand, he continued on his way home, the side streets emptier than the way he would usually go, far off voices and traffic just about audible. Only one street to cross and a quiet one at that and so didn't think to look both ways as he stepped from the curb. A low humming to the right of him became louder, the asphalt illuminated by headlights that approached at the thirty miles per hour speed limit. Plenty of time to retreat to the safety of the pavement, however, he didn't do this, instead walking out further. Lights growing brighter in is periphery, the instinctual urge to run for safety was absent yet he remained fully aware of the consequences of his actions, gliding on a track.

The rush of air across his face was all he felt as the car sped by, the width of a hair away. He didn't turn his head to see it disappear into the night, instead staring straight ahead as he made it to the other side, unfazed.

House empty, as Arthur had known it would be, he ascended into the darkness of the unlit landing and into the bedroom where he switched on his bedside lamp. Lowering himself onto the end of the bed, he took in a deep breath, like a reverse sigh, and let it flow from him. The cloudiness from that day was persistent, still skewing his mind, as though he were looking down on his own life from a great height. Lamenting the fact that he had so freely thrown his time away, wishing the day could end where it was, he rubbed at his eyes and breathed out once more.

Although Alfred had been adamant to see him in costume, Arthur considered his presence an endeavour on its own and so felt little guilt over his lack of effort. He had meant to buy a pirate hat, or something else minimally embarrassing, but had completely forgotten, perhaps for the better, however, he still wanted to get changed, hating that damn suit more and more each day he was forced to wear it. He slipped off his shoes without undoing the laces and began to strip the ill-fitting garments from his body, letting them crumple on the floor. The small heap of grey polyester looked almost liquid like, trousers, shirt and jacket all melding into one another, and Arthur wrinkled his nose at it.

Leaving the pile where it lay, he stood to go and find something more comfortable to put on but, in doing so, caught something out of the corner of his vision that distracted him. Against the slate coloured clothing, a flash of fluorescent pink was clearly visible and attached to the back of his suit jacket. Immediately recognising this as one of the post it notes that Erika left a trail of wherever she went, he unstuck it from the material and read the note scribbled on it in twisting letters.

Expecting it to be some form of work related reminder, a twinge pulled at Arthur's chest on seeing the two-word message 'cheer up' with a doodle of a smiley face below it. For a long time, he stared at the simple words that had more of an affect each time he read them over in his mind. It was a command he wanted nothing more than to follow and, even though a subconscious smile graced his lips, he didn't know if he would ever be able to.

Time slowly making him late, Arthur tore his weary eyes from the paper and went back to the task at hand, dropping the note, meaning for it to land on the mattress. However, with tired eyes, he watched as it missed and fluttered under the bed, like a defiant butterfly. Another heavy sigh came from his thin frame, and he bent to his knees in order to retrieve it, for some reason feeling it would be disrespectful to let such a kind-hearted gesture be left and forgotten.

Spying the bright pink easily in the dark, he reached an arm out after it but found it just out of reach, his fingers ghosting one of the edges. He felt compelled, however, to recover the touching note and so laid down, flat on his stomach, and shuffled partly under the wooden frame, stretching his shoulder as far as it would allow, to feel blindly over the dusty carpet. A few seconds of clasping at air until his hand brushed past something the texture of paper, stuck to something hard and cold.

Frowning in uncertainty of what the item could be, not recalling anything being stored under the bed, he took hold of the strangely shaped thing and pulled it from its hiding place, his brow smoothing out as he saw what he was holding. In his hand was an old, tattered, very worn in combat boot. One of a pair, of course, that he had owned since he was sixteen. A birthday present, he recalled, from some aunt or uncle that he hadn't taken off for the rest of his teenage years.

A laugh escaped him as he remembered how his mother had tutted and said he looked ungentlemanly while his brothers had been in awe, Alfred exclaiming how he looked like a soldier or a spy in them. Arthur could have sworn that he had thrown them out years ago, but they must have been unearthed in the move and, somehow, ended up hidden under the bed. It was irrational to be so deeply attached to a shoe, of all things, but, as Arthur looked down at the worn leather, the beaten-up soles that had taken him so many places, he couldn't help but be transported back to better times and, at this, an idea came to his head.

I still can't do pacing and I know there are probably loads of mistakes in this chapter because I was too tired to check it properly. Guess I'll just have to edit it while it's up. But hey, punk Arthur.

Feedback is welcomed (if it's not too mean) and I'll try to get the next chapter out sooner. Thanks.