It's Just Life

by Jassperr

Life can be hard sometimes. Impossible even. And Arthur must learn that sometimes you need help. (Altered) FACE Family dynamic. FrUK. Some fluff. M for adult themes, language and maybe sexual content. Other character appearances. Mental illness. Human AU.

6. Chapter 6

Notes and translations below

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The night was long, both men remaining awake to experience the first inklings of the matutine haze that signalled the nearing day but still found themselves woken by a shrill, electronic scream not long after.

Head jolting up with a sputtered grunt, Francis squinted with sleep blurred eyes to see where the offending noise came from, mindful not to disturb the man that lay dozing on his chest. However, the yellow mop began to shift, roused by the heinous sound, and cracked open its tired lids. With a deep exhale, Arthur reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out his phone, turning off the alarm and staring at the screen with an unreadable expression for a while before slowly sitting up.

"What are you doing?" Francis questioned, only semi-conscious, as he felt the smaller man try to climb over him.

"I've got to get ready for work," Arthur replied huskily.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the sofa, the Englishman felt a hand lightly grip his elbow and glanced over his shoulder where a look of concern waited for him.

"Arthur," Francis propped himself up on one arm, his voice low and tinged with worry, "Do you not think that, maybe, you should take the day off?"

"Why would I do that?" Arthur countered through a stifled yawn.

"Because I asked you to?" the other answered, gently attempting to persuade him.

For a second time, a shrieking came from the hand-held device and Arthur shut it off immediately.

"I have to go, I don't want to be late," he went to stand but the hand that held him stopped him from doing so, the softest pull keeping him in place as his exhausted body was unable to protest.

"Amour, please," his sweetened tone carried the slightest hint of sternness, "I think you need to take some time off."

Keeping his focus on the fractured, glass screen in his hands, there was a lack of conviction in Arthur's words as he spoke. "I don't need time off. It's not like I'm sick or anything," he excused, weakly.

The hold on his arm loosened, trailing downward like the touch of a feather to rest on his wrist, warm and tender.

"I would not say you are exactly well, though," Francis reasoned carefully.

Biting at his lower lip, the Englishman said nothing, knowing his partner was right yet not willing to accept what was said. Tempted by the heat of human contact, he stared straight ahead, the sound of his third back up alarm slicing through the peaceful morning.

"Come here," a whispered voice murmured close to his ear, the hand that was close to his own taking the phone from his grasp to end the final alarm then pulling him back into an embrace.

Allowing himself to be eased down without argument, Arthur relaxed, aching muscles liquidizing, damp breath heating the back of his neck. With two arms locked around his waist and residual sleep half obscuring his mind, it didn't take long for his body to give in and shut down once more.

Awakening of his own accord at a more reasonable hour some time later, the larger man was able to easily roll the smaller form from his hold without disrupting him, covering his sleeping partner with a blanket and leaving him to rest for a while longer. He went about his day, sitting in the kitchen editing some of his latest work and occasionally peering into the living room to check on the other who still hadn't stirred.

Distracted by what had happened the previous night, he found himself unable to concentrate on the task at hand, his thoughts all too easily drifting to the man across the hall. If anything, the whole situation had just become more unclear, with complexities he hadn't expected coming to light.

Combing both hands through his hair, still wet from the shower, he let his head flop forward as he expelled a strained breath. Sight fixed on the grain of the wooden table, he heard a shuffling to the right of him and the man he burdened himself over came into his peripheries.

"You shouldn't have let me sleep so late," the dishevelled man grumbled, rubbing at his reddened eyes with the heel of his palm, "I still have to call the office, they'll be wondering where I am."

A thin smile curled Francis' mouth at his lover's skewed priorities. Always the worrier, he thought. If only he would turn some of that energy onto himself.

"You looked too peaceful to disturb. Besides, I am sure they have worked out you will not be turning up by now," he brushed off the petty concerns.

A sigh drained from the body that darkened the archway, a sound that didn't represent any particular emotion, like a dog's sigh, as he scratched at his neck with bitten nails. He took a swaying step back, about to disappear upstairs, but Francis prevented him with a vague verbal que to halt and a beckoning hand.

Obeying the unspoken command, Arthur returned to the room, lingering against the doorframe with a blank look on his face.

"I still do not have any answers, cherie," the Frenchman reminded him of the night before as gently as he could, imploring with his eyes.

Another deep inhale that was let out just as listlessly, as Arthur rested his head against the wooden boarder like he couldn't support it. "Neither do I," he admitted.

Although not a productive answer, it was honest, and he was no longer deflecting, which was an improvement.

"I am sorry if you felt like you were under attack last night. I only meant to help you," Francis tried a different approach, wanting to keep their line of communication open even if there was nothing to communicate.

A light simper graced the other's face as he peeled away from the wall, dragging his feet over to the chair nearest Francis where he sat with his body facing him. "I know, I just…" he paused, eyeline dropping as he organised his words then looking up to meet his partner's, "I don't know what it is I need help with."

"Then, perhaps, we could take you to someone who can tell us what that is?" the older man tentatively suggested, almost wincing.

"I'm not going to any doctors, if that's what you mean," Arthur caught onto the hint immediately and, predictably, rejected it, "All I need is some time to figure things out and I'll be fine."

Unconvinced but willing to see how things played out before pushing any ideas, Francis nodded in agreement, returning a smile.

Both looking away in a moment of shared quiet, the older man reached over the table, his fingertips scarcely brushing the other's clammy skin.

"Why did you not say something sooner?" he fondly bemoaned, giving the icy appendages a comforting squeeze.

Arthur looked down at the contact, shaking his head. "I suppose I thought ignoring it might make it go away," he sheepishly acknowledged his flawed reasoning, "or it stopped me from having to deal with it, at least."

It was rare that such thoughts made it to being heard and, as awful as it sounded, Francis was, in a way, pleased that he was the one that was allowed to hear it. Of course, he didn't want someone he cared about to feel that way, but it was almost like, now that he had been let in on the secret, he was on Arthur's team, no longer fighting against him to help but at his side, facing adversity as a comrade. He was trusted.

"We are here for you, lapin," he assured, eager to show Arthur he was being heard, "Whatever happens."

Quickly becoming squeamish under the look of pure love he was being sent, the younger man gave another terse upturn of his lips and stood to leave, the couple's hands remaining joined until out of reach of one another.

Knees clicking painfully on his way up the stairs, a strange light headedness left him seeing a multitude of furry, black spots and, by the time he had reached the top, he had to stop and regain himself before faltering into the bathroom.

Peeling his shirt from his chest, sticky with dried night sweat, and dropping it to the floor, Arthur turned on the shower and let it run a while to warm up. He took longer under the heated stream than normal, as he had the liberty of time to do so and exited feeling cleaner than he had in a long time, even making the effort to shave the little patch of peach fuzz on his chin that had become too unruly for his liking.

In the bedroom, he threw on what was first to hand, neglecting to neaten his hair, and picked up the book that had been left, unopened, on his dresser for the last few weeks, taking it back downstairs with him. Glancing into the kitchen on his way to the living room, gaze subtly hanging on the man who sat there, fixated on his computer screen, he took his regular seat on the sofa, relaxing into the cushions.

The paperback falling open to where he had left off last with ease thanks to the bookmark that hid between the pages, he focused on the first sentence, running the words over in his mind. It took several attempts for him to realise he could remember none of the story before that point, having not touched the book in so long. Flicking back a couple of chapters, he tried again but the words were unfamiliar still. A few more chapters backtracking and the same, frustrating result.

Pursing his lips in irritation, he considered simply starting over but, recalling that the story had been so uninteresting that he had stopped reading it in the first place, felt his sense of dedication dissipate at the thought and laid the uninspiring material to the side. Still feeling the itch to keep his brain occupied rather than staring at some form of screen for the whole day, Arthur pulled himself to the well-stocked bookshelf under the stairs and browsed the creased spines with blurred, mossy eyes, hoping one would catch his interest. Familiar titles and authors didn't do much for him but, after some half-minded consideration, he reached for a novel he had already enjoyed several times over, choosing it for this reason. However, the reliable old plot seemed thinner than before, the characters flat and even the scenes that played like a film in his head had lost their vibrancy, although he couldn't really blame the book for that. Vision glazed and fixed on the last page of the chapter he had just finished, disappointment sunk in his ribcage.

"I hope you do not mind some company," Francis smiled warmly as he came through carrying two steaming mugs and a magazine wedged under his arm.

Lips tilting faintly upward in return as he glanced at the cheerful face, Arthur felt the seat beside him dip as the other sat, daintily crossing his legs, and unfurled his own reading material. Not wanting to break the tranquillity, Arthur continued to stare at the page, reading the same lines over and over while his partner flicked through pages of trashy gossip columns next to him.

After a while, the older man looked at his watch then made a quiet sound of effort as he stood. "I should be done in a few hours," he mentioned, holding out the magazine with the page turned to the crossword section for Arthur to occupy himself with.

Nodding, he took it and watched his other half return to the kitchen before putting it to one side, knowing there was no way he could attempt the puzzle. He took a sip of the tea he had forgotten was there and found it disgustingly room temperature, prompting him to wonder how long he had been sat there. By the length of the shadows that crept across the carpet, he could tell at least several hours had been wasted.

Somehow, a full day of doing absolutely nothing had managed to drain him of energy, not that he had woken with that much to spare. Checking his phone, he found less emails than he had expected, and was unsure of how to feel about this. Either no one at the office had noticed his absence, which was a little depressing considering how unlike him this was, or no one cared that he wasn't there, which was also depressing but in a slightly altered sense. Then again, had they noticed he most likely would have been in some sort of trouble, so at least that was avoided.

Leaning back into the sofa cushions, he screwed his eyes shut, head falling back. Too aware of the silence around him, he switched on the TV for background distraction while he sent off vaguely apologetic replies to people who clearly didn't expect much from him. Slumping down further into his plush seat, he let the screen switch itself off as no new messages came through, cementing of how little importance he was to his colleagues.

As the sun lazily sagged below the rooftops, a muted orangish horizon peeking between the low brick walls, Arthur found himself sinking lower still, the muscles in his body deciding of their own accord that they no longer wished to hold him up.

It seemed it took only minutes for the whole house to be plunged into darkness. Sounds of metallic clattering struck up in the kitchen, signifying the second occupant of the house had begun work on that night's culinary efforts and, shortly after, an aroma to further prove this wafted across the hall, followed by the man himself.

Perching on the arm of the sofa where the smaller man resided, he stretched out a hand to absentmindedly trail his fingers through the sandy mane.

"It is getting long, I will have to cut it for you soon," he crooned, "Unless you wish to grow it again, which I would advise against, in my humble opinion."

He gave a subdued laugh at the memory of Arthur's long hair faze while the other remained silent, seemingly not quite catching the joke.

"Sure," he muttered, having not made sense of a word.

A frown creased the older man's forehead and his lips moved once more, the sounds barred from reaching Arthur's ears by some invisible barrier, however, he nodded along nonetheless, hoping it was the right response.

Evidently, it was as Francis stood and went back to the kitchen, sending a look over his shoulder to which Arthur forged a tight-mouthed smile in reply.

Soon, he was called to join his partner in the other room where a plate waited for him, filled with something that looked and smelled, admittedly, very impressive. Yet, his senses had deceived him as, upon taking a bite, the food turned to damp ashes, crumbling and sticking to his teeth. He ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth in an attempt to dislodge the sodden clumps but only managed to spread the taste of decay.

"You have been quiet today," Francis noted in a purely observational manner as he ate from his own plate like a normal person.

"Sorry," Arthur apologised instinctually, "I would ask you how your day was but if anything out of the ordinary had happened I think I'd have been the first to know."

A chuckle emitted the other despite him not having meant it as a joke. "That is true, cherie," the older man's lips curved upward, and he carried on conversationally, "So, what did your office say when you were not there?"

"They didn't seem to mind," admitted the younger of the two, "I suppose I could take a day or two off."

"I think that is most wise of you," commended Francis with a nod.

Bobbing his head to signal agreement, Arthur forced in another mouthful and swallowed without chewing. Thankfully, the man across from him didn't catch the grimace on his face as it slithered down the walls of his throat.

"I must go to the studio tomorrow, so you have the house to yourself," he added on from the last thought.

Again, the smaller man communicated non-verbally with vague gestures and sounds while a majority of his attention was spent on strenuously gulping back the food that refused to stay down.

Taking large bites so that the act of eating could end sooner, Arthur finished a majority of what was on his plate, pushing the rest around disinterestedly with his fork until his partner had finished. He waited until Francis had placed his silverware together over his empty plate to get up from the table, reaching over to take the utensils to the sink.

"That is alright, I will clean up, you go and relax," the Frenchman stopped him, expertly balancing the china along his arm before Arthur had a chance to take it.

Retracting his outstretched hand, he glanced in the other's direction briefly then drifted back to the room he seemed to use only for wasting time. He sat awkwardly, not quite able to get comfortable for some reason, feeling rather useless having not been allowed to fulfil his one task of the day.

The daily news report threw grainy images at him as he curled in on himself, drawing his legs up onto the sofa, the sad state of affairs that was the current economy doing little to help him 'relax' as Francis had suggested he should. With the world the way it was, Arthur genuinely couldn't understand why everyone wasn't as nihilistic as himself. Perhaps they were, and they just hid it better.

He changed the channel as another article about some new government cutback came on, unable to take the doom and gloom any longer, just in time for his partner to walk in.

"There are plenty of leftovers for you to have tomorrow," he not so subtly hinted.

"Thanks," Arthur replied, moving his phone from the seat beside him so that Francis could sit there.

"And you will be alright here by yourself?" the older of the two voiced his concerns as naturally as he could.

"Of course," Arthur knitted his brow at the query, looking over to the other who held an expression of poorly masked worry.

"I will be out all day, but you can call me any time, if you need to," Francis offered with a shrug, neglecting to look his partner directly in the eye.

Watching him in profile, the younger man let out a quiet sigh. "Please don't worry about me, Francis," he implored, "It won't help anyone."

The other's lips twitched, becoming a tight line as his gaze flicked over, quickly falling to his lap once it met Arthur's. "I will always worry about you," he confessed, affectionately.

Though a sweet thing to say, Arthur couldn't control the sinking sensation of guilt he felt at being a cause of stress to someone. He knew it wasn't meant like that but to worry about someone was not pleasant and to think a person was agonizing over him like that after he had tried, for so long, to not be a bother left a knot in his throat.

"I'll be fine," he assured, "It's just a normal day."

Being looked at the way he was made him uneasy as Francis' gaze rested upon him so softly it was like he was afraid of breaking him. However, he was spared its scrutiny as the Frenchman inhaled deeply with a nod, as he appeared to allow him the benefit of the doubt and shuffled closer. Laying his head on the smaller man's shoulder, he curled up at his side and unintentionally let slip a low hum. Arthur couldn't help but chuckle at this, knowing it was an accidental sound of satisfaction, like a cat's purr.

"Quelle?" Francis asked in the same rumbling whisper as he let his eyelids droop.

"Nothing," Arthur replied, shifting so that he could lay an arm along the back of the sofa, the other's head moving to his chest.

Fine, flaxen hairs tickling his chin, Arthur tried to give himself over to the moment but that mental wall prevented him still, separating his sense of enjoyment from the things that he usually enjoyed, like they were incompatible from one another. While he felt the heat of the other's body, could hear his breath passing his lips, in his mind there was nothing to link these simple acts with any form of happiness.

He wouldn't express these feelings, though, knowing how it would sound if he tried to explain it and not in the mood to try. Instead he stayed quiet, letting himself be used as a chair, the most functional he had been all day, until lethargy weighed too heavily upon both of them.

"I will try my best not to wake you in the morning," Francis promised as they slid into bed together.

Turning off the lamp that lit the room, another light still glowed as Arthur caught himself setting his alarm for the next morning out of habit.

"That's alright, I don't want to sleep in too late anyway," he mumbled, turning his phone fully off for the first time in weeks.

He could feel the other close behind him and an arm found its way around his waist, gently pulling him down below the covers. "Well, you are taking some time to yourself, so you can do as you please but at least try to take it easy," Francis doted as he engulfed the both of them in the plush duvet.

"I will," Arthur affirmed, torn between feeling patronised and touched by his partner's well-meant reminders.

---

As quiet as he tried to be, Francis was not the most graceful person first thing in the morning and so Arthur found himself woken by a crash as the other knocked everything from his bedside table to the floor while trying to silence his alarm.

"Have a good day," his voice cracked above the hushed cursing of the man that still struggled with the device.

Eventually getting the noise to stop, after more agony than it should have required, a smile softened the older man's face and he leant over to leave a butterfly kiss on his lover's uncovered shoulder, before leaving him to enjoy their bed in solitude.

Being the one left behind didn't do much to help those feelings of uselessness go away and, as embarrassing as it was to admit to himself, Arthur wasn't sure he wanted to be alone. There was something about the thought of spending another day like he had yesterday that seemed so much worse when there was no one else around. But, he had promised Francis he would try to relax and, with the sweet caress of sleep coercing his eyelids closed, he found these worries soon gone from his mind as blank unconsciousness took over without a fight.

His sleep was dreamless, as it usually was these days, his brain too numbed to come up with anything, and, for a while, he hovered in the space between senselessness and waking, where everything is blurred and confused. Every time he felt himself surfacing from that deep, dark pool, something below its surface caught him by the ankles and dragged him back down. Time seemed to race by in between his conscious moments as, each time his eyes were open, the sliver of light that seeped between the curtains had travelled further across the room, eventually reaching the point that it struck him directly in the eyeball.

Searing white light scorching his cornea, Arthur sluggishly raised a hand to shield his vision, squinting at its brightness. He rolled over to avoid it and, on doing so, caught a glimpse of the time from the clock on the other side of the bed. To his surprise, he found it was nearly midday, and, despite having been in bed for almost twelve hours, he found himself thoroughly debilitated. Moving his arm to rub the sleep from his eyes took more effort than it should, and the limb was heavy like dead weight. Even blinking was a chore, his eyelids sticking together, willing him to fall back into that unfeeling state.

While his body itself seemed to be convincing him to stay in bed, he knew he shouldn't and so, with a deeply expelled breath, he sat up, clutching the covers against himself. Cold air curled around him, spilling over the skin exposed by the gap between the bottom of his shirt and waistband, making him shudder, and he hesitated for more than a moment before crawling from his warmed, linen nest.

Meaning to go straight to the bathroom, Arthur instead remained sat on the edge of the mattress, freezing. He stretched out a hand to see if the radiator was on and found the metal like ice, explaining why the house felt colder than usual as Francis must have forgotten to turn it on before leaving.

Unwilling to get undressed when the house was the same temperature as it was outside, he put on an old woollen cardigan he found discarded on a chair and went to switch on the central heating. The old, brick house, like most of its kind, didn't retain heat very well and took some time to warm up, one of the numerous reasons Arthur really didn't like living there. He had nothing against the house itself, per say, it was just that it could never live up to the old family roost. In all honesty, no other place ever could and sometimes he worried that he'd never be able to truly make a home for himself.

All radiators in the house whirred to life at the flip of a switch, the ancient pipes making strange noises as they were awoken, and Arthur pulled his cardigan tighter around himself as he waited for their effects. Outside the sky was white, the clouds like one continuous ceiling, perhaps holding rain. He couldn't recall the last time he'd seen a blue sky.

A low rumbling in his abdomen alerted him that he was hungry, although he didn't feel like eating, and he supposed he should probably have what Francis had so kindly left for him. Finding last night's meal wrapped in clingfilm in the fridge, he considered microwaving it but felt it would make no difference as, either way, it would still taste like nothing to him. He sat at the table in the kitchen in the grey light from the window as he joylessly scooped food into his mouth, chewing with disinterest then swallowing. It tasted no better than it had the first time, but he finished the plate anyway.

Feet tingling against the chilled tile floor, Arthur was eager to leave the room, placing his plate in the sink to wash later. He went across the hall, standing in the doorway to the living room but, for some reason, was unable to enter, a heavy reluctance forming in him. It was a barren room, depressing, the same as it had been when they'd first moved in. Walls a worn in beige with not a single picture on the hooks left by the last residents and a carpet that had seen better days.

Turned off by the bleakness of it, he ventured back upstairs to the bedroom. While it was more personalised than the rest of the house, sometimes it was still more like a hotel room than a place he would own for the foreseeable future, but still made him feel more at home than anywhere else in the house.

He perched on the edge of the mattress, staring out the window at the bright view of sky that blended in with the rest of the wall surrounding it. His phone, still on the side table, hadn't yet gone off once, which puzzled him briefly until he remembered that it was off. Debating whether it was worth it to make contact with the world beyond the front door, he knew Francis would probably be texting him all day and so thought it best that he turn the device on.

The screen lit up with messages, mostly inconsequential but one, as expected, from his other half, asking how he was. He shot off a simple reassurance in reply and ignored anything work based, tossing the phone behind him, hearing a buzz as soon as it was out of reach.

A sigh running through him, he leaned his stiff body back, reaching for it but finding the phone just out of range. Swivelling round to locate it visually, Arthur stretched further, lying back to grasp it and see the reply of three little Xs from the affectionate Frenchman, causing a whisp of a smile to blow over his lips. He hoped Francis wouldn't be waiting by the phone all day out of worry.

Spread out over the mattress, limbs splayed, Arthur took a deep breath, letting it go slowly and savouring how his muscles seemed to unwind into the pillowy sheets. He didn't think lying down had ever felt quite so amazing, staying that way, just staring at the ceiling, and letting his body go lax. Breathing slower and deeper, he could have been sinking, floating downward without fear of crashing, as a levity overtook him in mind and being.

Slowly rolling onto his side, drawing his legs up behind him, spine extended to its fullest, he inhaled the scent of used cotton, still faintly infused with detergent. He didn't know how he could possibly still be tired but, somehow, he was, the softness of the duvet so inviting to lie on top of that the darkness of his inner eyelids became all he could see as he pulled the bunched-up sheets close to his chest, clinging onto them.

Although the sun remained hidden behind indecisive clouds, a light broke through, pale white but mellow, and warmed Arthur's back. Hands made of natural light caressed his shoulders, his neck, their touch unintrusive, willing him back to sleep.

By the time he woke, though, the gentle contact had retracted back into the clouds along with the lightness that had briefly raised his spirits, the room now desolate as he opened his eyes to blackness.

It was late afternoon already, barely enough light for him to see his own hand where it lay inches from his face. Flexing his fingers as though he needed to check they were indeed his, he stared through the gaps between them, everything appearing fuzzy for a few moments before his vision adjusted. Across the room, the clock's glowing numbers read five pm, or there abouts, meaning Francis would be home soon. Another day wasted, not that he felt overly guilty for it this time. Untangling himself, he sat up and stood too quickly, dizziness halting him, swaying in place until it subsided. On unstable legs, he dragged his feet out of the room, bumping a shoulder into the doorframe on the way.

Unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth, there was the taste of something bitter and a lump in his throat. The unbearable thirst that comes when one is sleeping had dried his mouth out completely and he returned to the kitchen to make some tea, which did little to help rid him of the strange flavour that clung to the backs of his teeth. Leaving to head back upstairs as soon as his purpose there was completed, he made sure to bring along his cigarettes and lighter with him, throwing open the bedroom window to lean out with one.

Usually he wouldn't smoke in the house, as the stench dug its claws to everything it touched but didn't really want to sit outside when the temperature was dropping by at least two degrees every night. Just hanging his head out the window had his teeth chattering. Cupping a hand around the end of the paper stick to shield the flame while the other end was clamped between his lips, Arthur inhaled as soon as the tip glowed orange, smoke carried away on the wind before it had time to rise.

Street lights on the pavement below illuminated the empty roads. There was surprisingly little traffic for the city where they lived, although, it was mostly a residential place. A lot of newlyweds and elderly couples gravitated to the area because of the proximity to public transport links and affordable, if limited, space; partly the reasons that Arthur and Francis had chosen it too. Rows of front gardens and bay windows, pebble dashed and repainted exteriors that so carelessly ruined the traditional brickwork underneath. A strange kind of terraced London suburbia.

Folding his arms to rest his chin upon, Arthur's gaze fell on one such house front, the red brick covered by a layer of white wash with a neat patch of shrubs in front, the bushes somewhat bare but still, miraculously, alive, somehow. He didn't know who lived in the house, had never seen them, nor was he acquainted with any of his neighbours, the very thought of it a foreign concept. All he knew, or ever wanted to know, was what was left for viewing through undrawn curtains.

His train of thought, brought on by the stillness, was broken when his eyes picked up on movement out of the corner of his vision. With the distinctive sound of claws on the pavement, a woman with a lead attaching her to, what looked like, a small bear strolled by the house he had been staring at. There were often dog walkers about this time of night, some of them so frequent that Arthur could recognise them, though he had never seen this particular couple before.

He surely would have remembered them if he had as he had never seen a dog quite like it. Striking in its massive size, it's fur hung about it in a huge, cloaking, black mass, a shade of black darker than coal, than the sky, the blackest black he had seen in his life. Its breath was visible, coming out in misty puffs from its nostrils, its chiselled, squarish head faced in the direction it walked like it stalked the shadows ahead of itself.

Arthur watched them as they passed, transfixed almost. Leaning further out the window as they began to disappear from view down the road, he knocked the glass pane slightly, causing it to creek. It was surely the sound which caught the creature's interest, as it turned its great head to stare up and directly at the source of the noise, but Arthur could have sworn it stared him in the eye when it looked around. Two glistening, amber beads that bore into him, no discernible thoughts behind them. Locked in place, unable to look away as cinders tumbled from the end of his cigarette, Arthur leaned out into the cold air like those eyes were trying to speak to him.

Whatever fantasised, interspecial connection they had shared was broken, however, when the lead around the animal's neck was given a tug, prompting it to walk on, its gaze pointed straight ahead, silken coat rippling with the movement of its strides. Soon gone from sight, Arthur was left watching where they had been, slowly poisoning his lungs and growing numb from the chilled wind that swept over his face. Lips beginning to tingle from exposure, he dropped the useless end of his cigarette onto the driveway bellow to join a multitude of others he had been meaning to clear up for weeks and yanked the window closed with a grunt.

Legs giving out as soon as he was beside the mattress, Arthur lay back against the head board, rubbing his eyes. With nothing to do, he was basically waiting for the day to end so that he could go back to bed.

Francis would be home any moment yet the thought of this didn't elicit the excitement it should, instead the dread of having to socialise pinching his windpipe. Being miserable alone was one thing but feeling that way around other people brought a new layer of unpleasantness. Even if Francis knew he wasn't quite as okay as he was claiming to be, he still didn't want to reveal the full extent of how absolutely fucking awful he felt, as much for his own pride as to spare the other's worry, and sometimes faking a smile or simply nodding when he was asked 'are you alright?' physically hurt.

Blinking hard against the greyed walls, his eyes refused to focus fully on anything. Arthur's eyesight wasn't as sharp as it used to be, but he hoped he could last a few more years without needing glasses, well aware of how expensive they were after paying for both his brother's prescriptions. Leaning forward to press the heels of his palms into the sockets, he tried again, the world remaining fuzzy around the edges.

With a drawn out, nasal sigh, he stretched his arms out in front of him, hearing something click, then let them flop down again. Grabbing his laptop from beside the bed, he opened it up to be blinded by the blueish light and browsed through his emails before he was reduced to binge watching shows he hadn't seen in months as a form of unchallenging entertainment.

Halfway through his second episode, the sound of the front door swinging on its hinges alerted him of the presence of his partner, as did the calling of his name, to which he didn't reply, immediately followed by nearing footsteps. The bedroom door creaked open slowly, Francis poking his head around the corner like he expected Arthur to be asleep, face lighting up when he saw he wasn't.

"I am glad to see you took my advice," he commented when he saw the other had not strayed far from where he had left him that morning.

Pulling a strained smile back, Arthur looked over with failing eyes. "I didn't have anything else to do," he replied, his voice hoarse from not being used all day.

"Good," the older man chuckled lightly at the endearing croak, "You look less tired."

Regardless of how he appeared, Arthur still felt like death but didn't mention this, keeping up his faked expression.

"Hungry?" Francis continued.

"Not really," the Englishman mumbled, gaze flitting away to miss the concerned look he received.

"I will leave enough for you in case you change your mind," his ever-thoughtful companion offered, smiling again as he left.

Arthur waited for his lover to be gone before crumpling in on himself, unaware that he had, for whatever reason, subconsciously tensed his body. He had expected to have been left alone for a while, curling up under the covers once more, but was soon joined, again, by his limited company as Francis returned.

"What are you watching?" he asked conversationally as he slipped off his trousers and got beneath the covers.

"Some documentary series," Arthur spoke in a flat tone, no investment to his words.

"Ah, interesting," Francis enthused mildly as footage of war was played over a narration of events.

As morbid as it may be, there was something fascinating about such atrocities. While some people may like to think that, deep down, humanity was kind and loving, Arthur thought that war was the best representation of mankind there was. Violent, selfish, careless, self-destructive. If that wasn't the human race, he didn't know what was.

He kept his musings to himself, however, as Francis cuddled closer, using his limp frame for support. While the older of the pair would occasionally wince or tut empathetically, Arthur watched with a straight face, almost calloused to the awful facts.

With no idea of how he could still be so spent of energy, Arthur gave up prolonging the day after a few more episodes, not having paid much attention to it anyhow, and closed his laptop. While Francis settled down, his eyelids descending with ease, the smaller man frowned as his shoulders began to ache as he laid out flat. Something plucked at the muscles of his upper back just enough to be a nuisance, letting him know it was there, and stayed with him as he rolled over to try and find a more comfortable position.

Beside him, his other half was already asleep, face blissfully expressionless as he occupied his half of the bed, while Arthur, afraid of waking him with his movements, tried to shift slowly, a little at a time. Whatever stance he found himself in, though, the pain seemed to move with him to the worst possible place, determined to burden him. Sitting up, he attempted to roll it from his shoulders, stretching them so that they strained, a tight pulling sensation easing the twinge momentarily only to have it return as soon as he laid down again.

Heaving a sigh, he turned onto his front, the most accommodating position he could find despite the fact it crushed his lungs a bit, hugging his pillow with both arms. The face of his lover, inches from his own, was motionless, lips hanging apart, the softest rumbling coming from the back of his throat to show he was truly numb to the world. Envying him slightly for this, Arthur turned his face the other way, staring hazily at the sliver of black sky he could see through the gap of the curtains instead.

Time moved by maliciously slow, the night feeling endless in a way it hadn't in a long time. One of the nights when a person is awake to count down the hours they have left to sleep in. Arthur recalled the last time he experienced a night like that, when his mother had first gotten sick as thoughts of what, at the time, seemed to be the unthinkable filled his head until morning broke every night for months on end. It was nearing the approach of dawn by the time his darkened eyelids agreed to stay closed, the exhausted man barely stirring as his partner rose for work only an hour after he had managed to drift off.

His brain whirring back to life hours later, he may as well have not bothered with sleep at all as it had done nothing to help the pain and fatigue that was engrained into his very bones. Rolling to his side, his cotton tomb tangled around him, trying to convince him he didn't need the outside world, enticing him to stay with downy, strangling arms. He struggled to be free of it, his limbs cumbersome, almost too heavy to lift, but managed to fling the sheets aside eventually.

Stomach rumbling as he stretched out his limbs, he was simultaneously hit with a random wave of nausea. He couldn't tell whether he felt sick because he was hungry or if they were unrelated and he should refrain from trying to keep anything down but ventured downstairs for the first and only time that day where last nights extras were still left out, as promised. Francis would check to see if they had been eaten, and would low-key allude to it if wasn't, and so he endeavoured to take a mouthful, only to spit it into the sink when his insides rejected it.

Binning the rest, he holed himself up in the bedroom again, heading straight back between the sheets without even thinking. However, it was no longer a relief to return to that place, the mattress hard as marble against his aching bones, the covers seemingly wanting to kill him, either by heat or asphyxiation, the room itself oddly cramped, as though the walls were getting closer together. A stifling must made it harder to breath deeply and every time he sighed he became light headed.

Despite this, Arthur couldn't force himself to leave. He would only go and be unproductive in a different room if he did and, at least in the confines of his sheets he could claim he was where he was meant to be if he wanted to be utterly useless. Somewhere amidst the small mountain of covers that were piled atop him, his phone buzzed as a message came through. He dug through them to find it was Alfred texting, something about a date. Glancing over the words, the correct response wouldn't come to mind, and he forgot what the message had been about in the first place as soon as the screen faded out.

He wasted the following hours of his life in a dull variety of ways. Staring at the ceiling as he dragged on a cigarette, inhabiting the surreal space between consciousnesses, watching the shadows stretch wider and longer as they patiently invaded every crevice of the room, sapping the colours from objects, turning them to ash.

Like the day before, he heard his lover return from work, call out to him and proceed to where he lay, remaining unresponsive. Even as a caring, blond head peered into the room, repeating the name it had before, Arthur was quiet, facing away from the man that spoke to him, feigning sleep. It didn't take long for the other to realise he wouldn't be getting a reply and he closed the door as he went.

From downstairs, the sounds of a normal, functioning person, going about their life like they were meant to, reached the pale imitation of a man above. Listening to someone else manage to operate so seamlessly, without the slightest hint of hinderance, really did make Arthur look at himself with embarrassment as he lay there, barely a human anymore, unable to appreciate everything he had because of his own inadequacy. For whatever reason, people still liked him, or pretended to, he still had a job and a home and a future, of sorts, to look forward to yet, instead of making the most of what he had, he was hiding away in bed looking for reasons to ruin himself. That was perhaps the worst part; that it was all his fault.

Continuing to reflect over his own self-hatred, Arthur found himself in the company of his partner as Francis came back around the time they would usually retire for the evening. At first, they didn't speak but Francis must have noted he was awake as he tried to strike up a conversation.

"How are you, amour?"

The question sounded like it had come from far away, as though he was being called to from the other end of some wide, open space.

"Fine," he stated, his own voice barren.

The quilts that covered him were disturbed a little as Francis joined him under them. "You did get out of bed today, oui?" the Frenchman spoke with hesitation to the back of the other's head.

A muffled noise meant to mean yes was his reply, as Arthur told himself he wasn't technically lying since he had physically been outside of their room, although he knew this wasn't what Francis had meant by this. However, the other seemed satisfied with his answer as he felt a pair of lips be pressed to the back of his neck and nothing else after that.

---

The studio was quiet that afternoon, very few distractions to hold Francis back from what he should have been doing, yet he still found himself unfocused. Repetitive thoughts of the man he worried for took up most of the space in his mind, so much so he felt a pressure behind his eyes like his anxieties tried to push themselves out through the sockets.

Sighing heavily, he sat back in his chair, running a hand down his face as he allowed himself to reflect on those thoughts. He had never seen Arthur act this way before and he couldn't ignore how deeply troubling he found it. However much Arthur insisted he didn't need help or that he just needed some time to fix things himself, as he claimed, Francis had watched him deteriorate over the last three days for, seemingly, no reason. Things may have been stressful for him lately, but he had never seen him implode like this, it wasn't how he would usually react. Even when Alice had died he had still been functional.

While he wanted to give Arthur some space to try and work things out, it was fairly clear to Francis that he was struggling, pulling himself down, and didn't know what to do about it. The problem was that neither did Francis. There was no outright issue to solve, nothing he could take care of and have things go back to normal. As much as he had tried not to let his worries overflow onto others, there was no shame in asking for help, especially when it wasn't for himself.

Most of the office had gone to lunch, which left him alone at his desk. Drumming his fingers on the armrests of the chair, he bit his lip while considering whether he should do what he was contemplating.

Deciding it was for the best, Francis took his phone in hand, scrolled to the contact he needed and pressed call.

"Hi, Francis. What's up?" the soft-spoken voice greeted after two rings.

He smiled slightly, as he always did when he heard that placid tone, his own voice seeming drained by comparison. "Bonne après-midi, Mattieu. Have you a moment to spare?" he enquired a little stiffly, thinking of how to word what he wanted to say.

"Sure, what is it?" Matthew sounded equally as unsure as he picked up on Francis' inflections, "Everything okay?"

A pause, wherein Francis struggled to come up with his next line. He knew there was no need to put on a brave face for Matthew, the perceptive young man would have easily seen through it anyway, and so came out with it plainly.

"I do not know what to do with your brother. He has not gotten out of bed for two days and he barely eats. He is inconsolable over something, but I do not know what. I was hoping, maybe, you had the slightest clue as to what was going on."

"How do you mean, exactly?" the younger man didn't sound surprised, but his tone became a shade sterner as his partial training kicked in naturally, "Does he seem upset over something specific? Did he mention anything?"

Francis hesitated as he sat forward again, hunching over his keyboard. "He said something about your mother the other night and he keeps saying he needs to think about things but none of it made much sense. It is like he is…coming undone," sighing again, he shook his head.

A hum of consideration came down the line as Matthew took a few moments to deconstruct what he had been told. Less than a minute but still longer than Francis was comfortable with, the seconds like eons as he waited for a response.

Eventually, Matthew spoke with a certain reluctance, his voice low and soft like he was breaking bad news to someone. "Look, I don't want to scare you when I say this and I'm not diagnosing him because I don't have the right to do that, but I think he could be kind of depressed."

The words, while not beyond the realm of expectation, struck the older man's chest like ice. Remaining quiet with his mouth open for some seconds, his name being repeated on the other end of the phone prompted him to reply.

"I…I suppose that makes sense but…" he trailed off, not sure how to react.

"I'm not saying anything for sure so don't take my word for it, but I've wondered for a while now," Matthew sounded a little guilty at this, he probably thought he should have done more to help but no one could blame him for anything. Admittedly, Francis felt the same way. "I mean, a lot of the signs are there."

A sigh escaped the Frenchman as he reflected over everything. "How long do you think he has felt this way? Out of all the times he could have done, why does he fall apart now?" he thought aloud, trying to gain some perspective.

"It's hard to tell. You know how he stores things away rather than dealing with them, this could have been building up for a while. People can function under those kinds of conditions for a long time, not that anyone should," the other paused, hearing only silence from his surrogate brother. "But, like I said, he'd have to go to a professional to get an official diagnosis. Or maybe he does just need some time to figure stuff out," a soft exhale came from the device, "I probably shouldn't have said anything."

"Do not be ridiculous, you always manage to help," Francis reassured him, "Do you think I should try and persuade him to go to a doctor then?"

"It wouldn't hurt to try but…" Matthew's voice petered away, an uncomfortable hum coming from him as he stopped himself finishing his thought.

Frowning at the receiver, Francis urged him to say what he was holding back. "But what?"

Another pause and a stuttered noise came from the other before he continued.

"Well, it's just that things like this are never really that…simple," he cut himself off once more but carried on of his own volition, "Even if you manage to get him to go he'll have to be honest and pretty vulnerable if he wants anything to come of it and I just don't see that happening."

Francis hadn't considered this aspect and it was true. If Arthur wouldn't even express these feelings to him the likelihood of him telling a stranger was practically non-existent, that is if he could talk him into seeing someone at all.

"But it's worth a try anyway, I guess," Matthew tried to sound encouraging, sensing the despair of the man on the other end of the phone.

"Oui, yes of course," Francis' attempt to be optimistic fell pitifully flat.

"Hey, we haven't seen you guys this week and Al wants to talk about some America stuff, how about we come over tomorrow. You think that might help?"

Smiling again at Matthew's eagerness to be of aid, the older man nodded despite the person he was speaking to not being able to see, "It would get him out of bed, at least."

"Okay, well, we'll see you both tomorrow then," Matthew scheduled.

"Oui, mon petit. Bonne journée," Francis bid him goodbye in the language he had taught him when he was younger.

"Vous aussi," he returned the same, making Francis beam as the phone call came to an end with an electronic click.

---

Francis came home earlier that day, finding Arthur had still not shifted. The food that was left for him had not been touched at all this time, still on a plate under a layer of clingfilm in the fridge, and the house smelled of stale cigarettes. Again, faking sleep when his partner came upstairs, Arthur felt the other's weight dent the mattress as he stretched out atop the covers, lying there with him for a few minutes without speaking. He got up after a while, though, going downstairs where he stayed the rest of the afternoon.

The novelty of sleep had long since worn off for Arthur, especially as it brought no rest for him. He would wake up still as tired as he had been before closing his eyes, his body paining him from the second he woke. It wasn't enjoyable, not in the slightest, to stay there all day but he had no reason to get up, and he was just so exhausted.

This being said, he was plagued by a restlessness, the muscles of his legs feeling stiff and tight, and, although he knew it would hurt him, Arthur couldn't ignore it anymore and would rather take mild agony over the irritation of needing to move. Coming to a standing position with the agility of a clockwork doll, he emerged from his isolation and was halfway down the stairs when he stopped on hearing voices coming from the living room. One was Francis, obviously, but the other two he couldn't place, especially since they sounded odd, sort of grainy and garbled.

Homing in on the two, unidentified people, Arthur sighed as he recognised they weren't speaking English, and knew instantly who they were. He almost about faced and went straight back where he had come from but, he must not have been as quiet as he thought as Francis called from the front room.

"Amour, is that you?"

Silently groaning, Arthur bit back the frustration that had begun to build at the mere thought of the two French natives and descended the rest of the way, coming into view of the laptop that showed the couple over Skype.

"There is mon ange," Francis beamed lovingly up at him while his parents glanced in his direction with steely eyes.

"Hello Mr and Mrs Bonnefoy. Comment allez-vous?" he asked, knowing it would make things a little less excruciating if he spoke in their language.

"Oui, bien, Arthur, en tous cas," Louis, the older Frenchman, continued the conversation he had been having with his son prior to Arthur's entrance, the woman beside him saying nothing.

Refraining from rolling his eyes, Arthur turned and went across the hall. He didn't know why he still tried with them. They had always made it clear they were not a fan of their son's choice in partner, but Arthur tried not to let it bother him too much. However, after they had moved back to their homeland having to leave Francis behind, as he already lived with Arthur at the time, their dislike had blossomed into something rather more severe.

Over in the safety of the kitchen, he listened to their prolonged goodbyes, a lot of 'love you's' and accentuated kisses being shared between them until the call finally ended and Francis came over to join him.

"Sorry about that, we were in the middle of something, they did not mean to ignore you," Francis apologised on his parents' behalf, still, somehow, unable to see the fact that they truly hated his partner.

Shooting him a look, Arthur didn't comment, pouring himself a glass of water to make it look like he had come downstairs for a reason.

The other came further into the room, leaning against their tiny dining table, crossing both his arms and legs.

"You know, I was thinking we could visit them sometime soon," he suggested in a musing kind of way, "We have not been on vacation in a long time, after all."

Lip curling at the thought of it, the Englishman thought up an excuse to put it off, as he had been for the last five years.

"I don't think I'll be getting much time off any time soon, why don't you go for a weekend without me."

"But I want you to come with me," Francis lilted, met with silence. "We could go somewhere else, if you like," he persuaded, thinking a holiday to be a good idea, something Arthur may actually get excited about, "going away could be good for us both."

"I still don't know if I could get time off," Arthur turned down, uninspired by the idea, just wanting to get back up to bed.

"We could go for a weekend, somewhere close," the older man persisted, "You could talk to Alistair and see if he would suggest somewhere in Scotland."

"Why the hell would I do that?" Arthur snapped limply at the mention of his seldom referenced half-brother.

It had been a misstep on Francis' part to bring him up and he backed away at the weakly angered tone in his lover's voice. "It was just an idea. Never mind."

Gaze falling, the younger man went quiet, as though expressing an emotion had tired him out, and looked away again.

"Goodnight," he uttered, shuffling past the other man and back up to his hideout, leaving an untouched glass of water on the sideboard.

---

When days are spent without change, they blur together too easily. Change is the indicator of time, after all, and without the former, the latter is thrown into disarray. Everything still hurt, life was still gruelling, and Arthur had lost track of how many days he had spent between those dirty sheets by now.

The night sky outside didn't help to indicate how much time had passed as the sun set long before noon this time of year and he couldn't see the trajectory of the moon for clouds obscuring it. Francis' comings and goings were the only semblance of change he had to go by and even then, he was in some sort of a daze, barely noticing when someone else was there. He wondered if this was what a coma felt like. Not quite dead yet not amongst the living. He couldn't say he minded it too much.

"Je suis désolé, cherie, but it is time to get up."

An artificial light flooded the room, stinging his eyes, but was soon blocked by a solid form. He felt the covers, that were wrapped loosely around him, be peeled back and a warm hand cup his shoulder.

Squinting to focus on the face close to his own, he met a pair of eyes watching him, as concerned as they were blue. The lips below them twisted into a sympathetic smile and a second hand slid beneath the side of him that was pressed into the mattress, softly urging him to sit up.

"Alfred and Matthew are coming over, you need to get dressed," Francis whispered, holding the limp body upright.

Cracked lips parted, presumably to ask what was going on, but no sound made it out of them, Arthur only blinking with weighted eyelids that looked desperate to close again.

"Come now, I have run you a bath," the older man told him, smoothly running his hands down the skeletal arms to hold his lover's hands, standing and gently pulling the other up with him.

Being led to the bathroom on legs that shook like a new born deer's, Arthur caught the scent of flowers as steam dampened his cheeks, a cloud of moist warmth reaching from inside the tiled room, drawing him in.

Leaving his partner propped against the sink, Francis checked to see if the water was the right temperature then turned off the taps. He looked back at the other, who stood hugging himself, and pressed a kiss to his cheekbone.

"The boys will here in about an hour, take your time if you feel like it," he encouraged thoughtfully, closing the door behind him as he left.

Pink tinted water filled the bath, the surface spotted with little peaks of bubbles, like icebergs at sea, and radiated a sweet-smelling vapour. Pulled in by the alluring fragrance, Arthur leant over the tub, piercing the water's skin with his roughened fingers, trailing them through the soothing heat. He hadn't seen to his personal hygiene in days, he hadn't had the motivation to, nor had he taken an actual bath on over a year, usually sticking to showers since they were quicker, but, when covered in the filth of his own wallowing, the water was too inviting to resist.

Fabric glued to his body with days worth of old perspiration, it was a relief to be naked, his skin taking a much-needed breath as it was exposed to the air. Thankfully, the mirror was frosted over with condensation so that Arthur wasn't forced to face his own, ghastly appearance as he carefully lowered himself into the bath, movements deliberate but rickety.

Instantaneous and immense pleasure swept over him as he was submerged, becoming weightless, his physical burdens lifted from him. Sliding down further, he sunk and floated with the capacity of his lungs, water covering his ears so that everything was blurred out. He listened to his own breathing, his heartbeat, the sounds that reminded him he was still living.

Inhaling through his nose, Arthur closed his eyes, allowing his face to be engulfed along with the rest of him, parting his eyelids again once on the other side of the shimmering surface. Above him, the ceiling rippled, bubbles bursting from him. A few slipped from between his pursed lips at first, small and wobbly, but then a torrent as he opened his mouth, expelling everything in his lungs so his back pressed against the bottom of the porcelain bowl.

In the silence, he stayed motionless. His instincts told him it was time to resurface, a burning sensation heating his chest as his organs begged for air, but he denied them. The heat spread, crawling up his throat, and it wasn't until he felt the pressure building in his skull that he raised both arms out of the water, gripping the walls of the bath to pull himself up.

Swiping his darkened blond locks from his face, he took in deep but controlled breaths, replenishing the oxygen in his bloodstream, his racing heartbeat slowing to a natural pace. While his hair was weighed down by saturation, his head was, somehow, lighter, clearer. Only marginally so but enough that he could look with fresh eyes.

It was good to be clean again, his skin feeling tight now that it wasn't covered in a layer of grime. When he rubbed at the dried-out patches on his chin with bitten down nails, tiny flakes came loose. Gathering his worn clothes from the floor, his nose wrinkled at the smell and he tossed them into his washing basket.

Coming through to the bedroom in his towel, he noted the sheets had been changed and his bedside table had been cleared of the mug he had been using as an ashtray. The window had been opened to try and clear out the stale atmosphere of the room and Arthur welcomed the frigid breeze that scathed his skin, having not left the house for the better part of a week. He wasn't sure how long he had been stewing in the bathroom but he didn't want to be half naked when his brothers arrived and so he threw on a jumper, that he swore didn't used to hang so loosely from his frame, and some trousers.

The mist from earlier had dissipated and, as he brushed his teeth over the sink, he couldn't avoid his reflected self as it mimicked his actions. Circles, not just dark but black, hung low below his eyes and his hair refused to be tamed however hard he attempted to flatten it with a brush, but he didn't care too much what his family made of his appearance.

There was a rapping at the door just as he spat a mouthful of frothy toothpaste down the drain, but Francis was downstairs to let their guests in. By the time he made it to the landing, cheerful interactions were already being exchanged and his joining them elicited a bright grin from the elder twin.

"So, you're still alive then," he joked, "I've been texting you all week, man. Why haven't you picked up?"

Eyes landing on his brother's carefree face, Arthur felt his lips twitch upward of their own accord.

"Sorry," his voice crackled to life like an old record, "I've been distracted."

"Well, you're just going to have to listen to me ramble about everything that's happened since I last saw you then," the younger man spoke in his typically brazen manner, throwing his jacket on one of the pegs by the door as he came through. "You ordered everything already, right?" he glanced back at Francis who shook his head in mild exasperation.

"Oui, mon trou noir, they said it would be about half an hour," he relayed the good news, causing Alfred's grin to stretch, somehow, wider, and looked back at his partner. "I thought it would be nice if we ordered some Chinese food and watched a movie together," he clarified with an easy smile.

Arthur felt himself subconsciously showing a similar expression to the one he was offered and the warmth that softened his chest told him that it was meant.

"I brought some DVDs to choose from," Alfred shouted from the front room where he was making himself at home, "You guys really need to get Netflix or something, like, how do you live like this?"

"Well, we apologise for living in the dark ages," Francis commented sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he followed the other.

Left in the hallway, Arthur's gaze fell on Matthew, who stood by the door removing his coat. Glancing back, the younger man gave him a light smile.

"Hey, Artie," he acknowledged him, speaking barely above a whisper, "How are you?"

"I'm alright," Arthur gave the standard response, essentially brushing him off.

"Francis said you haven't been at work all week," the other hinted that he knew something wasn't right, giving his brother the chance to talk about what had been going on if he felt so compelled to.

Despite this, the older man only shook his head with a benign air. "I was just taking a break," he told the truth to an extent, "How are you? You look tired."

He observed the bags that had started to collect below his sibling's usually bright eyes.

"Oh, yeah, I'm just a little stressed, I guess," Matthew brushed his fringe from his eyes and adjusted his glasses like he was trying to cover his face, "I've got this professor that likes to spring surprise quizzes on us and he still gives us a new assignment every a week," he let out a worn sigh. "It's just a lot to do, is all."

The smack of empathy that hit Arthur directly in the heart hurt and it must have shown on his face as Matthew added a quick reassurance. "It'll be Christmas break soon, though. I've just got to hold out until then."

"Don't work yourself too hard in the meantime, Mattie. Stress isn't good for a person."

Although he could see the irony of his words, Arthur had always been a very 'do as I say, not as I do' sort of parental figure and while it may have been slightly hypercritical it was done with the best of intentions.

"Hey, you two out there, come help me decide what to watch, Francis' choices are bad."

They were beckoned to join the rest of their quartet, walking in to find Alfred on the floor surrounded by a dozen identical DVD boxes, every front cover depicting some sort of explosion, car or generically attractive couple.

"So, I've got it narrowed down to a top three," he fanned out three boxes to show his brothers, all indistinguishable from one another, "Arthur, you pick."

Looking at his options, the elder Kirkland pointed to the middle one without thinking, all of them looking about as appealing as one another.

"You didn't even look properly," Alfred complained as though it made the slightest bit of difference.

With an exaggerated eyeroll, Arthur, again, studied the DVDs and made his choice. Alfred flipped the front around so he could see it and grinned approvingly.

"Nice choice," he commended with such sincerity that the others couldn't help but snigger quietly to themselves.

Slipping the disc into their ancient DVD player, the group settled into seats, Alfred angling his body towards the screen in anticipation.

"Shall we take bets on how long it will be before the first cliché?" Francis jested, raising an eyebrow at Matthew and Arthur.

"I've already counted two," Matthew happily took part in winding up his twin.

"Hey, shut up, I like this movie," Alfred fell for the bait, defending the subpar film as he always did.

Smirking at having gotten a reaction, the pair were pleased to hear the lightest breath of a laugh come from Arthur, his pale face showing a look of amusement. It was encouraging to see, especially since he was still being so quiet.

The food they had ordered arrived after a while and they ate in the living room out of the plastic containers, the relaxed atmosphere and sinfully delicious meal putting everyone in a good mood. With the film playing on, only the occasional criticism or remark sounded from the group, all of them enjoying the quiet company.

Scrunched up in the corner of the sofa beside Alfred, Arthur watched the sequence of events play, vaguely attempting to keep up with the story. Although the weariness of his physical being had mostly left him, there was still a loitering haze and he continually fought the urge to rest his eyes. He would have focused on the film to help himself to stay awake, however, it made such little narrative sense that he frequently found his brow furrowing in total confusion.

Glancing over at his brother to the left of him to find him engrossed in the experience, he felt that, perhaps, he was missing something but, looking over at the two men on the other sofa to find them expressing similar levels of bafflement showed the perplexed Englishman that he wasn't alone. Diligently taking in the information spouted at him through the asinine exposition of the characters, he only became increasingly lost. Again, looking over to see his brother's face alight with investment and then to the other's contorted frowns, Arthur felt the corners of his mouth lifting out of amusement, a stifled chuckle escaping his nose, followed by another, then more until he was laughing aloud for no apparent reason.

His outburst garnered puzzled looks from his family as they too began to smile, his random happiness infectious.

"Alfred, this really is utter shit," he exclaimed between gasps, to the delight of everyone but Alfred.

"What the fuck? This is a great movie!" the American expressed his disagreement, struggling to keep a straight face.

"For something written by a twelve-year-old, perhaps," Francis gave his opinion.

"You weren't even watching it," the younger man countered.

"Because it's terrible," his own twin threw back, drawing further laughter from their older sibling.

"Well, I'm sorry it's not up to your impossible standards," Alfred relented, the grin that never ventured far from his lips taking over, unable to resist being tickled by the joy of others.

Their interest in the film well and truly lost, the group let it play on for background sound as they began to chat, talking about what had happened in their lives in the short time they hadn't seen one another.

"So, you want to hear about my date, or what?" Alfred began.

"A date? What date?" Francis' interest was immediately peaked, "Why was I not told about this?"

"Because, it's weird how invested you get in other people's relationships, dude," the younger man lightly poked, "Plus, your advice is always way over the top, it never works."

Shaking his head, the hopeless romantic denied anything was wrong with his technique. "I give the best advice, you must be doing it wrong," he flicked his hair behind his shoulder, smiling smugly, "You clearly do not have the natural flair you need, unlike moi."

A snort came from the other end of the room as Arthur raised an eyebrow in argument to his partner's sweeping statements.

"I do not know what you are giving me that look for, cheri, it worked on you, did it not?" the self-proclaimed love expert smirked.

"You tricked me," Arthur accused.

"And eight years later, we are still together," Francis pointed out, feeling he had won.

"It's called pity, dear," came the characteristically biting reply, yet, when shooting him a playful glare, Francis noted the light-hearted spark in his lover's eye.

"So, anyway, about the girl that I didn't have to con into going on a date with me," Alfred cut through their exchange, "Her name is Michelle, we went out for coffee a couple days ago and she's real sweet and totally cool. I like her a lot."

"That's good to hear, Al," Arthur nodded, genuinely pleased for his brother.

"Yeah, I'm seeing her again soon," a lopsidedly, lovestruck grin occupied his face as he spoke, "I guess I owe you a thank you for leaving my number back there."

Harnessing everything in his power to not say 'I told you so', the elder Kirkland simply showed his support in return. "Not at all, I'm glad she called you."

"Make sure you bring a gift this time," Francis told him, unable to stay quiet on the subject, "and take her out to dinner, a nice place, not just some drab old coffee shop."

"Sure, I'll take her to Burger King, I've got coupons for a free milkshake," Alfred teased, getting his own back from earlier.

Disgust was evident on the other's face and a despairing sigh ran through him. "Mon Dieu, I give up. From now on, I will focus all of my attentions on Mattieu, were there is still hope."

Violet tinged eyes widened behind their frames with comic apprehension, the younger twin recoiling at the thought. "I'm happy to be single for now," he rejected as a chuckle ran through the group.

"Oh yeah, and," the older twin continued, remembering something, "my plane tickets came in the mail, I'm heading out there December seventeenth. You'll come to the airport with me, right?"

"But of course we will, we must be there to see you off safely," Francis clucked.

"Do you need help paying for the tickets at all?" Arthur offered, his anxieties over the whole event making his eager to help in any way possible but was waved off.

"The school is paying for the flight out and I've got my student loan for the way back," Alfred declined but looked over with hopeful eyes in a way that told his brother he was about to ask for something, "I was hoping I could borrow some money from you, though. I've got to get a train half way across the state to get to Paul and Linda's place once I'm there."

A frown scored Arthur's forehead at this and his tone held the slightest hint of judgement as he questioned, "Will they not come and pick you up?"

"Uh, well, they said they would have done but they have other family over so, you know," Alfred shrugged, a hand rubbing the back of his neck, seeming uncomfortable yet he still smiled, "It'll be a good way to see some of the state, anyway."

Readying a response, Arthur caught the gaze of his partner who shot him a look that made him think better of what he was about to say.

"We will help you out however you need, do not worry," Francis assured him.

A look of gratitude filled the young American's face and his words were genuine as he spoke. "Thanks, you guys, it really means a lot that you want to help."

"There is no need for that, mon cher, we want you to be happy," the older man smiled, "We cannot keep you here forever, can we."

Smiling blankly along with the others, Arthur tried not to let the statement affect him too much, telling himself it was all temporary, and that Alfred would be returning home in no time. There was no point in working himself up over everything again, and he, therefore, cut these thoughts off before they could manifest.

As it was a Friday night, the two younger men stayed later than they usually would have, putting on another film of Alfred's choice purely for the purpose of making fun of every scene, even the man who had started out defending it seeing the absurdity and joining in the ridicule at certain points.

While he had still been somewhat withdrawn, Francis was optimistic after seeing Arthur come back to himself. Despite not being completely convinced that he was capable of helping himself through whatever rough patch he was encountering, the evening had certainly been encouraging and it was good, so unbelievably good, to see him smile.

The night getting later as the film drew to a close, the youngest of the four exchanged looks that said it was time for them to leave and set about getting ready to head out.

"Hey, Artie," the older twin shifted a little, gently addressing the man that had started to fall asleep against him.

"Hm?" Arthur blinked, sitting up as though pretending he hadn't been ready to pass out while using his brother as a bed.

A soft laugh came from the larger man. "It's alright, dude, you can hit the hay now, me and Mattie are heading home."

"Oh, alright," the other replied, "Get home safe, you two."

"We'll text you when we get back," Matthew promised from the hallway, "and thanks for dinner."

"Any time, mon petit," Francis joined him by the door, followed by Arthur, who stood close to him, allowing an arm to be wrapped around his middle.

Exposed to the night and shivering, their farewells were brief and the two, defacto parents waved the pair off from the door.

Feeling much of the weight of his partner leaning against him, Francis looked down with a loving simper and gave his other half a squeeze. He reached over to put the chain on the door then trailed up the stairs after the other, catching up to him in the doorway of the bathroom where he caught the smaller man by the hips, leaning in to nuzzle his neck briefly before releasing him again.

"Thank you, Francis."

The man addressed glanced over his shoulder at the seemingly out of context statement to see a set of eyes like jade beads watching him earnestly.

Mouth curving up at the corners, Francis nodded in reply, going to bed with his mind at rest for the first time that week, soon accompanied by the other, who lay comfortably in his hold, barely stirring throughout the night.

As morning broke, however, so did the realisation that Francis ad been overly optimistic in his attitude as things went straight back to how they had been previously, as though the night before had never happened. Getting up and going about the day, the Frenchman could barely rouse his partner enough to exchange pleasantries, a human puddle that occupied the bed. He would have tried to force him up as he had the day before but there was really no reason and so, instead, Francis settled for sitting with him, leaving and returning at intervals, going about his business and occasionally checking on him, not a word spoken between them all through the day. Any suggestion of the Arthur he may have seen only hours before hand had faded, been lost to the void that now consumed his lover, like it had been taunting him.

The words of advice that Matthew had offered rebounded round his skull as Francis looked in on the pitiful scene from the doorway. Frustration brewed in him at the whole situation, his inability to do anything making matters infinitely worse. Although he had tried not to take the younger man's deductions as certainties as he had been told, the speculations had shaken him. There were too many stories out there of issues like these going unchecked that ended in tragic consequences. He winced at the thought.

Taking a breath to calm himself, Francis was well aware that he was overreacting, allowing his imagination to get the better of him, but he couldn't help it. Not when the man he loved was fading away right in front of him.

Turning away, he closed his eyes in thought. If Arthur wasn't an immediate danger to himself then surely there was no need to panic but there was always that lingering threat and it put him on edge to no end. There was no way of telling how long everything had been building up, no way of knowing how late was too late.

Forcefully shaking his head to rid it of those disturbing thoughts, he left the landing, the sight of his partner causing his anxieties over him to become too much. Retreating to a safe distance where he could clear his brain, Francis quelled the worry that was slowly eating away at his sanity.

---

Four in the morning was a strange time and, if he listened closely, Arthur could hear the tick of the clock all the way from the kitchen. There was a light on the wall, the source of which he was unable to locate. He couldn't remember anything that had happened that day.

Pale hair reached across the pillow beside him, satin fingers clawing toward him. The head they flooded from was faced away and deeply asleep. Arthur stared at the back of that head, considering how it was a view reserved for him alone and how to be a person's first and only was a fragile position.

Sitting bolt upright now, he stared with hooded eyelids at the wall at the foot of the bed. Completely bare apart from the ghostly wedge of light that struck it at its centre. The wardrobe door that always hung the slightest fraction ajar remained this way and, in the back of his mind, images of hands protruding from the darkness within it stirred.

He wasn't afraid though. He never had been. Not even when he was a child and the noises came at night, the scrapings and shufflings that made it appear he wasn't alone in his bedroom. The monsters under the bed were there to protect him, his mother had always said, they chased away the bad dreams. It was the monsters that lurked in the sunlight that he feared, now more than ever. Their disguises were too convincing.

A tiled surface crunched against the notches of his spine as he sat on the edge of the bath, using the wall to keep himself up. One leg was positioned on the inside of the tub, the other outside of it, on the mat that covered part of the floor. He could see the lower half of his body in the reflection of the mirror on the wall, the rest of him cut off from the waist up.

He pulled both legs up against his chest so that he was left balancing, precariously. The bathroom smelled cold and like dried out moisture, the scent only a bathroom could possess, and it fitted his introspective mood perfectly. It was the only room in the house that had no windows, had never been touched by natural light, and it felt that way.

Chin rested atop his knees, Arthur embraced his legs, holding them tightly against his body, making himself the smallest, tightest ball he possibly could. Eyes fixed on one particular tile in the corner, he noticed it was different than the rest, or so he thought at first. Observing it, his brain was able to decipher what he saw, finding the square to be the same as the rest but rotated. He didn't know what frustrated him more, the mistake or how uniform the rest of the tiles were. It would have frustrated him, that is, if in that moment, he had felt anything at all.

Unable to shift his gaze, the swirling, blue pattern seemed to morph the longer he watched it. Two dark splotches became more prominent, a line below them making a kind of face, an animal's face.

A dull, heavy ache started to throb in his chest at this. He wasn't sure why.

"What are you doing?"

A voice echoed against the smooth walls, refracting off of multiple solid surfaces until it reached Arthur's ears.

Head lifting as he failed to rip his gaze away from that corner, his mouth hung open, waiting for words to spill out.

"I don't know who's cat it was," he muttered without thinking.

"What cat? What are you talking about?"

Shaking his head, the ache in his ribcage grew to a stabbing, searing pain. His nose stung, and warm, wet trails trickled down his face.

"I didn't know its name," his voice squeaked with the strain of not snapping.

"I do not understand, Arthur."

He swallowed thickly, choking through his nostrils, an ugly sputtering.

An arm around his shoulder guided him out of the bathroom, coaxing him back to bed. Pressed against the firm chest beside him, he mourned his own existence, unable to truly cry as he had done before, almost like the tears he had shed had not yet been replenished. Instead a crushing sadness came in waves, paralyzing him then ebbing away to return tenfold.

Physical pain had never been something that bothered him too much, it was temporary after all, but whatever this was, he would have given anything for it to end. Even in his sleep, he wasn't spared, waking every half hour still feeling as though his heart were wrapped in chains, his dreams vague but sad as he dreaded the sunrise.

---

A frown wrinkled Arthur's forehead as he was jostled awake by a gentle shaking. Outside, the grey tinge of another day peaked through the blinds, bright enough for it to still be the morning, and he narrowed his eyes in protest.

"I am sorry to do this to you again, amour," Francis apologised from above.

Coughing several times before speaking, Arthur looked up with hazy eyes.

"What is it?" he rasped.

The other looked hesitant at first but spoke with a caring certainty, his face creased with concern.

"I made you an appointment at the doctors, we are going there now," he informed the younger man who's frown deepened as he looked about to argue. "Please, Arthur, I want what is best for you and I do not know how to help," Francis interjected, the expression he held so earnest that Arthur closed his mouth again.

There was silence for a short while, the older man keeping up his expression as all he could do was hope, until the slightest nod came from the other in agreement, a ball of lead forming in his stomach.

---

Notes

En tous ca – Anyway

Je suis désolé - I am sorry

Trou noir – Black hole (because Alfred's appetite is a void that will never be filled)

Winston Churchill, Prime Minister of the UK during WW2, suffered from severe depression after the war, guilty over the deaths of hundreds of thousands of men that were sent to fight and never returned. He referred to his depression as his 'black dog' and I find this quite impactful for some reason.

There are also tales of folklore (originating from several nationalities including English) that the black dog is a spirit with connotations of protection. This comes from the old belief that the first soul buried in a graveyard would remain there to help new souls find the way into the afterlife and so no human was doomed to be trapped on earth as a spirit forever they would bury a dog there first. The spirit of the dog would stay to protect the grounds and the new souls that came to it and it would help them safely into the afterlife.

Alistair is Scotland, as you can probably tell. He had no official name so that's what I went with.

Michelle is Seychelles, that's what I saw most commonly used.

I named Francis' parents Louis and Camille because that sounds French.

Thanks for reading, reviews are welcomed.