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.

7. Chapter 7

Warning - Sexual content and discussion of medication ahead.

Disclaimer - I want to make clear that I am not trying to discourage the use of medication, I am not against it in any way.

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Staring at the little white box, words printed on it in bold, clinical font, Arthur was unsure as to how he had acquired it. Medication. The word made his skin crawl.

He could remember sitting in a waiting room the day before, Francis beside him, and his name being called over the loud speaker. Thankfully, Francis had spared him the embarrassment of following him into that sterile office but beyond that point everything was somewhat fuzzy. There were questions, vague yet simultaneously deeply revealing, to which he gave stunted nods with a blank expression.

Did he often feel alone? Did he ever experience periods of a low mood or unexplained anxiety? Was he often tired? Did he frequently feel his endeavours to be pointless or trivial?

He didn't think too much about the information he was giving away, nor the implications of it, seeing no reason to lie to a stranger he was unlikely to ever cross paths with again. And anyway, he was there because his other half had practically begged him to go and he felt that, while he would have been lying to a man he had no relation to, it was like a round-about way of deceiving his partner and he just couldn't do that after the way Francis had looked at him.

So, he had left the office with a slip of paper, a signature scrawled along the dotted line and a prescription he didn't bother to read which they picked up from the local pharmacy on the way home.

Arthur hadn't touched it that day, he needed some time to think about what he wanted to do. Honestly, he hadn't thought this would be the outcome. Some unspecific advice and maybe the business card of a therapist's office was all he had expected, not an actual, physical, supposed solution. The very idea that medicine could help with something as intangible as emotions was an abstract one and he had trouble wrapping his head around it.

Never having been able to fully trust any form of pharmaceutical solution, he regarded the packet on his desk with suspicion. It could be purely a placebo, however, judging by the list of chemicals that filled the back, he found this unlikely. Not to mention that whether those chemicals would do more good than bad was anybody's guess, seeing as the list of side effects was almost as long.

While headaches and long-term weight gain were not exactly appealing, it was the fact that those strange, bitter blocks could have such an effect on his mental makeup, or were meant to, at least, that was his ultimate concern. He was depressed. He wasn't stupid so this much was obvious, yet he wasn't sure that he really wanted this to change.

Being miserable wasn't something he enjoyed, but at least he knew how it worked. Happiness had always appeared so fragile to him, and such hard work to keep up and, a lot of the time, it didn't seem worth it. What's more, Arthur had accepted his state. He was an anxious, cynical little man, he could play that role and play it well, and the thought of that being taken from him frightened him, especially since he could barely remember what life had been like prior to being that person.

Leaning back in his office chair, he bit at his inner lip in consideration, glaring down the packet as though it were plotting against him. Although he may not have explicitly said he would take the pills, he knew that Francis was expecting him to, but he couldn't, not when he knew so little about what they could do.

With a sharp sigh, he shook his head, sitting forward again as he told himself he was overthinking things. The bottom line was that if he didn't want to take them he didn't have to. But they were meant to help, and Francis was just so worried about him.

"Mr Kirkland, I'm so pleased to see you are feeling better," exclaimed a gentle squeaking from the door.

Almost jumping out of his skin, Arthur jolted and quickly grabbed the box from his desktop, shoving it into a draw as though it were contraband.

"Oh, my apologies, I didn't mean to startle you," Erika bowed her head, about to skutter away as abruptly as she had arrived, "It is good to see you, Sir."

"Erika, wait," the older man stopped her, pausing awkwardly when she stood in the doorway with an expectant look.

Clearing his throat, Arthur's eyes rested upon her lightly as he spoke, still so young, barely twenty. The same age as he was when he had signed his soul away to this hollow industry.

"If you don't mind my asking, I was wondering if you plan on staying here long. At this company, that is," he stuttered, hoping it wasn't too personal of a question.

The young woman simply smiled, however, an out of place expression to Arthur given his hatred for the company and clutched the folders she held tighter with a glint of ambition about her.

"Yes, I hope to make a career for myself here, if I can," she enthused.

Arthur stared at her in silence as his heart sunk. He pitied her in all of her hopeful naivete.

"Well, I'd be happy to put in a recommendation for you," he offered out of some sort of need to do at least one good thing that day.

The young woman's face lit up as she inwardly rejoiced. "Thank you, Sir, so much," she showed her appreciation, becoming more expressive than the other had ever seen her before.

"That's quite alright," he smiled back, sadly, "And you can…call me Arthur, if you like."

Beaming, Erika nodded. "Yes, Mr Arthur. Thank you," she trilled, bobbing her head once more as she practically skipped down the hallway and, despite having made the girl's day, Arthur felt as though he had signed her death warrant.

The sound of plastic rattling emanating from his pocket like the sound of machine gun fire, Arthur stiffened whenever it knocked against something and glanced around himself quickly as though someone else would hear and, for whatever reason, judge him. A ridiculous notion, of course, but something about just having it made him uneasy. Every person that so much as turned their head was staring at him, anyone near him could, somehow, tell there was something wrong with him and they hated him for it.

Stepping from the bus into the empty street where the incessant noise echoed, he sped the length of it to his front door. The bag over his shoulder, so weighted with reports he had to catch up with that it had started to cut off the circulation in his arm, hit the ground with a heavy thud as Arthur dropped it by the front door as soon as he crossed the threshold. He hung his coat above it, leaving the box of pills in the pocket.

He bolted the front door behind him, since neither resident would be leaving the house again until the morning and made his way down the hall. Meaning to go upstairs, something on the events calendar that hung on the wall by the entrance caught his attention, a date circled with the reminder 'Engagement Party' under it. The event had crept up on Arthur as he saw it was less than two weeks away, his shoulders sagging with a sigh.

"Ah, I thought I heard you," Francis addressed him as he came down the stairs, "What are we sighing about this time?"

The Frenchman's good-natured ribbing was met with an uninvested hum as his partner glanced over, blank faced.

"I didn't realise the engagement shower was so soon," he spoke his thoughts, "Do we need to get them a gift?"

"Oui, and it is already taken care of," the other informed him, pecking the side of his head.

"Oh, alright then," Arthur wasn't overly concerned with whatever his partner might have gotten on their behalf, probably wine.

"And I made sure to check that Alfred and Matthew both have suits for the occasion," Francis continued, his voice growing fainter as he wandered to the kitchen.

Cocking his head, Arthur looked back at him. "I didn't even know they were invited," he remarked.

A soft chuckle came from the other room as Francis raised an eyebrow in return, his tone amused. "Amour, Feliciano planned this. Half the city and most of Italy are invited."

Lips quirking into a semi smile at the comment, Arthur reached for the invitation, still where he had left it a few weeks previously. Delicately unfurling the paper, he looked for the address where the event was to be held, somewhat surprised to see it was only at the local recreation centre. He had expected something more flamboyant from the Italian but, then again, there was most likely a fair bit of compromising done by Ludwig.

"You have a black suit you can wear, right?" Francis called, "It says the dress code is black tie."

"I have one somewhere," Arthur mumbled, paying more attention to the embellished writing than the person he spoke to.

"Alright, well, I do not have anything that is quite appropriate, so I will have to find something before then. I will spare you the agony of accompanying me, though," the older man rambled on in the background but received no reply.

Poking his head around the corner to see his lover staring down at the paper in his hands, seemingly in a world of his own, he called to him gently.

"Are you listening?" he questioned the other's turned back.

Head springing up in a strange sort of manner, the smaller man turned his body to face him. "Yes," he stated with a peculiar blink.

Watching him closely, Francis' brow twitched, almost frowning, however, he showed no outward reaction, instead leaning against the doorframe, keeping his tone relaxed when he spoke.

"So, how have you been? Any better?" he carefully alluded.

The back of his neck immediately becoming hot with shame, Arthur found himself unable to tell the truth, even though there was no harm in doing so.

"Not really," he lowered his voice as he lied, "I think it takes some time."

Nodding with a contemplative look, Francis offered an encouraging smile. "Most things do," he mused.

A shallow imitation of his expression was reflected off the face of the other as Arthur's gaze fell. Putting the envelope back where he had found it, he studied at the calendar once more, committing the date to memory, ignoring the date in December that was circled, and escaped to another room.

Arthur had never been adept at outright lying to those he cared about most. A few harmless mistruths here and there to spare a person's feelings or to put their minds at ease but no more than that, by his reasoning at least. It wasn't even that he felt s particular need to always tell the truth, more that nothing happened in his life that warranted lying about, a sad thought when he realised how boring that made him sound.

Alone, Arthur pulled out his phone, opening a private tab on his browser and angling his body away from the doorway, so that there was no chance of Francis catching a glimpse of the screen if he came past, as he typed in the name of the brand from the box still in his coat pocket. Immediately bombarded by columns, adverts and blogs, Arthur was quite taken aback by the sheer volume of information.

Titles of opinion pieces praising or condemning the use of such help, people who swore by the pills with such vehemence it was slightly concerning and others that acted as though they were the devil's work. Sensationalised newspaper segments that claimed to expose 'What You Don't Know' about this or that, as though they were the authority on such things, and alleged professionals giving their skewed advice over message boards. Some medical sites gave him hope yet turned out to be only marginally helpful, offering straight facts but, ultimately, no reassurance of whether taking the damn medication may actually work.

He knew the internet was no place to be looking for impartial advice since anyone with a keyboard and an opinion was given an audience, but he felt as though he had stumbled into a minefield. It seemed that the more controversial the topic of discussion the less nuanced the arguments were, black or white with no middle ground. It made it impossible to find anything at all rational. Regardless of what he found, however, the choice was up to Arthur and he let out a heavy breath as he closed out of the search having found no help.

Being at work after a full week out of the office took minimal adjustment, the old routine still there and waiting for him, and, as expected, the workload hadn't eased up in his absence. By the looks of the towering stack of documents left in his incoming mail tray, it seemed he would be sacrificing his weekend and most of his evenings to the unappeasable trudge of menial progress. Whereas before he could see work as a distraction, now, after a week spent in self-reflection, it was an all-consuming beast that snapped at his ankles if he dared to slow down while every other anxiety continued to nag him.

Each night returning home a little later to the same sympathetic critique of 'you should not work so hard', Arthur would just quirk his lips lathargically, blinking back the fatigue behind his eyes in an attempt to appear as though his mental state were improving. To his relief, Francis rarely referenced the prescription that remained unopened in his brief case. It was obvious how self-conscious he was about the situation and he was grateful that his partner was able to pick up on that, causing him to stay mostly quiet on the subject.

This silence, however, only served to add to the brewing pot of guilt inside the younger man as he was increasingly aware of how he was taking advantage of the other's trusting nature by deceiving him. Whenever the dreaded topic was brought up, he would give curt, guarded responses and leave the room shortly thereafter, disappearing to collect himself. While it may have seemed ridiculous to be so torn up over what was, in truth, far from the worst crime he could have committed against his other half, there was something about the betrayal of lying to him when he only wished to help that got to Arthur deep in his core. The whole sequence leaving him more unravelled than before, Arthur was forced to act as though everything had gone back to normal.

The irony of the situation was not lost on him, although he didn't much feel like looking on it with humour. That night when Francis had confronted him, while he had been terrified of exploring his own feelings, there had been the slightest sliver of optimism awakened in him. Someone had forced out of him what he had kept hidden from even himself and because of this there seemed to be the chance of a resolution.

But, through his own inability to simply express himself for fear of upsetting others or of accepting help or some subliminal desire for self-destruction, he had squandered his chances and left himself in a position worse than where he had started. The disappointment of it stung and he cursed himself for being so foolish as to believe he may be able to take control of anything so easily.

Life continued to spiral in way that he was used to and, before he knew it, the weekend was halfway over. Slumped over his desk late on Saturday afternoon, he stared, eyes glazed over, at his computer screen, at the thousandth blank document of the day waiting to be filled in, the reflection of his facial features just offset from the ordered boxes so that they were sliced through by cage like lines. Referring to the physical papers he had on his desk, he typed up what was already there, a redundant action that he wasn't going to question since his income depended on it.

His gaze drifting from his task to the time, he felt no particular reaction. It had just gone half five, not the latest he had been there that week, but he considered leaving, since no matter how much he got through that night the rest would still be there for him in the morning. Slipping perpetually further behind, it had become a matter of keeping up enough to not get fired rather than excelling long ago. Resignation sinking in him, he ploughed on nonetheless.

A while longer drifted by, the clacking of keyboards dying down, the lights of offices alongside his own going dark, and Arthur seemed to be in some sort of autonomous fugue state, his pace never lessening as his glazed over eyes watched without blinking. Each time one of his fellow desk dwellers left their cubicle, switching off their lamps and monitors, the bulb above him would flicker with a frazzled buzz. Occasionally he would hear snippets of conversation as people passed by his door on their way out, not one person sticking their head in to say goodbye. Even if they had, he most likely wouldn't have responded as he inhabited a different plane of reality to those around him, a world that stretched as far as the perimeters of his computer screen.

However, he was torn from his daze by a sardonic knocking at the already opened door, a body loitering outside.

"Hello? Back to Earth now please, I have been trying to get to you for hours," a disgruntled Frenchman called out to him, gaining his attention.

Squeezing his eyelids together several times, a stinging sensation making his eyes to water a little, Arthur looked to his partner in mild confusion and then to his phone, as though he needed proof of the fact. At least ten messages received at varying points in the day showed him that Francis had the right to be somewhat frustrated and he shot back an apologetic look.

"Sorry, I was sort of busy," he weakly excused with a nod towards the stacks of papers that surrounded him like a fortress.

Sympathy registered on the face of the other and his irate stance softened.

"I keep telling you to just leave it," he gently reprimanded to which Arthur pulled a tight-lipped expression of no discernible meaning.

With a brief exhale, Francis came into the room, strolling over to the desk, his face hardening again ever so slightly.

"But anyway, that is not why I came here," he folded his arms, his tone taking on an edge that made Arthur look up with quizzical apprehension, "You lied to me."

Heart skipping a beat at the accusation, the guilty party's mind instantly went to the sealed packet in his briefcase. He had no idea how Francis had found out, but it had only been a matter of time and remorse began to redden his ears. Readying an apology along with an explanation, his worries were put to rest as the other finished his statement.

"I checked the wardrobe and you have nothing to wear for Friday," the older man exposed with a disapproving look.

Breathing a silent sigh of relief, Arthur was able to come to his own defence. "Yes, I do, a black suit. It's hung up at the back."

Another look was sent his way, one of unimpressed exasperation this time.

"Non, I am drawing a line," Francis disciplined with a pointed stare, "You are not wearing the suit you bought for your mother's funeral to an engagement party."

"It's black and it's a suit, it meets the criteria, doesn't it?" the other replied insouciantly.

"It is too morbid, Arthur. I will not allow it," Francis stood firm on his point.

"Well, then I'll wear this," Arthur shrugged, referencing the thick, grey suit that he wore.

A scoffed laugh came from the taller man who raised an incredulous eyebrow.

"No, you will not," he told him.

"What's so wrong with it?" the younger man looked down at himself.

Eyeing him judgementally, Francis was unmerciful in his critique. "It is ugly and cheap, and it does not match the dress code," his scathing review was met by an indignant frown. Tilting his head to the side with his most endearing eyes, he persuaded again, knowing the reason that his partner hesitated. "We have a disposable income now, you know. No more debts, no more hungry teenagers to feed, you can afford to get yourself a nice suit for a nice occasion."

Swayed by this, Arthur chewed at his cheek before relenting. "Alright then, fine. Could this conversation not have waited until I was home though?"

Beaming at having gotten his way, Francis stepped away from the desk he had been leaning over. "The mall is open late tonight, so we are going now, no arguments," he announced, turning and walking from the room, pausing in the doorway with a quick, "Come along," before disappearing around the corner so that the other was forced to follow him.

Arthur knew that he was waiting around the corner for him but hurried to gather his belongings and close up the room anyway, eager to be out of the place. Meeting up in the hallway, the pair left the building together, speeding through the dark and dank streets to catch a bus to their local mall.

The building was surprisingly busy for that time in the evening and a majority of the shops remained open. A pinch of empathy registered in Arthur on behalf of the shop workers being made to stay late on a weekend. Having worked full time in a handful of different stores before he had landed his current job, he remembered all too vividly how agonising the late shifts could be. Whether he would take that back over what he had now, though, he couldn't say.

Strolling down the centre of the outdated building, browsing shop windows with minimal interest as they went, the couple headed directly to the outlet they had come for. Its display looked promising, showcasing some decent pieces at acceptable prices, although, Arthur was sure that Francis would still manage to find the most expensive thing in there.

The interior was designed to give the illusion of luxury despite being located in a fairly low budget mall, the walls lined with wooden draws that contained smaller items and the latest fashions set out on tables. Perusing what was on offer at a leisurely pace, the couple made a circuit of the shop, Arthur picking out only one suit that he deemed good enough while Francis had his arms piled high with garments, quick to take anything that caught his eye.

Eventually, they made it to the changing rooms, the older of the two taking half the store's stock with him. Going into one of the little cubicles with his single selection, Arthur was halted.

"Wait, take these with you," Francis held out another two outfits, smiling enthusiastically when he was sent an antagonising glance. "What sort of person only tries on one thing," he chastised.

"A person that doesn't want to be out shopping at seven on a Saturday," Arthur sniped, taking the clothes and drawing the curtain over.

Hanging the suits up on the peg provided for him, Arthur set free a long-held breath, quietly so that his lover wouldn't hear it through the cloth that separated them. He dropped his bag in the corner and sat on the bench to remove his shoes, finding it harder than he should to stand up again.

Mirrors adorned two of the three walls that surrounded him so that he had no choice but to see himself in more detail than he had in a while. He could have cringed at the sight of his own body and so dressed quickly in the first of his choice.

"Are you dressed? Let me see," his partner demanded from the other side of the fabric wall.

Staring in tempered disgust a short while longer, he straightened his collar and drew back the curtain the reveal himself.

"How's this?" he asked with very little investment in his words.

The other hummed, his hand on his chin as he nodded thoughtfully. "Turn around," he ordered, to which Arthur rolled his eyes but complied, having to hold his trousers up so that he didn't get in trouble for indecent exposure in a public place.

After some careful consideration, Francis reached his verdict. "I do not like the shape it gives you, try another," he concluded.

Retreating back into the cubicle, Arthur stripped himself of the one suit he had chosen and tried another, wincing at the price tag as he did so. While it may not have been extortionate, there were one too many digits for him to feel it was value for money. Then again, he would probably wear it more than once, so perhaps it was worth a few extra pounds. Shaking his head, he slipped the jacket on, rolling his shoulders and finding he liked how it fitted. A little wide across the back, but he didn't mind since it gave him the illusion of being less scrawny.

The price still bothered him, though. However much he assured and reassured himself that he could afford things now, that he didn't have to budget every detail of his life like he had been for the past six years, he couldn't escape the mindset of being poor. It was a way of life, one that he had been living for so long he found it hard to release himself from its shackles. He decided to see what his critic thought before setting his mind on his purchase, though, and smoothed out the creases on his shirt as he went to show off the new ensemble.

Perking up at the sight, the older man's mouth curved upwards in approval, his eyes like hot, melted butter as they poured over what he saw.

"Très agréable, mon cher," he praised.

Uncomfortable under the way he was being looked at in public, Arthur gave a stiff nod to signal he liked it too and turned around to disappear again.

"Even better from the back," he heard remarked from behind and glanced over his shoulder to give a half-hearted glower as he concealed himself to the sound of lude chuckles.

Keeping the same shirt on so that he could avoid his reflection as he changed into his final option, Arthur had to stifle a yawn. Waking at the crack of dawn every day for a week after extended time off was draining to say the least and his sleep schedule had been well and truly ruined. He found himself nodding off at his desk several times a day and almost fell asleep on some stranger's shoulder on the bus ride home most afternoons.

Arms aching as he shrugged on the last blazer, he showed the man he needed to please his last get up.

"Mmm," Francis hummed, squinting as he looked his lover up and down, making a motion for him to turn, which he did, "Perhaps you should try the jacket from the last one with these trousers."

"Francis, please," Arthur let his exhaustion get the better of him, his shoulders sagging as he urged for the excruciating experience of shopping with his significant other to come to an end.

"Alright, alright," the other relinquished, standing and taking his small mountain of clothes into the changing room opposite the one Arthur used, "I like the second one the best," he gave his opinion but left his partner to decide.

Changing back into his own suit, Arthur decided on the second choice despite it being slightly more than he would have liked to pay, leaving the other two hung on the wall for some poor, underpaid sales assistant to take back later.

He came out with his chosen garment and sat on the bench between the changing rooms where Francis had been perched, stretching his arms. They were cramped stiff after hours of being hunched over a keyboard and the bones in his elbows ground together when he extended them fully. His body collapsing under its own weight as he relaxed on the cushioned seat, Arthur gave in to the various pains that plagued him, well aware that they came mostly from his muscles being overtired and underused.

"How is this?"

Head snapping up at the question, Arthur came back to his senses and he realised he had been about to drift off.

"Yes, good, it's nice," he fumbled his words, rubbing his eyes to try and will himself to wake up.

"Really?" Francis was sceptical, turning to see himself from every angle he could in the mirror, "I am not so sure."

"No, I like it," Arthur's monotonous voice was unconvincing, but Francis didn't seem to notice, too preoccupied with his crucial decision.

"I still have a few others to try," the Frenchman mused, "I promise I will be quick."

The curtain blocked his sight once more and Arthur deflated back into his seat, running his hands down his face. Another yawn threatened its way out and he caught it in the crook of his arm, his head becoming fuzzy from the pressure, a ringing picking up in his ear that gradually lessened and faded.

Eyelids drooping every so often, the slumped heap of a person would tear them apart with all the will power he possessed and prop himself back up with some help from the arm rest. Balancing his chin in his palm with his elbow atop the wooden surface, he made mumbled sounds of affirmation when something incoherent to him was called from inside the changing room while his mind slipped away to some place quieter. His head too stuffed with junk to come up with anything creative, he daydreamed of a silent, white expanse, able to block out the noise of the surrounding mall. A warmth softened his brain, the physical world dematerialising around him.

Something hard pressing against his shoulder caused him to jerk awake again as he found himself almost laid out flat along the sofa. There was no one around to see, but still he felt his ears burn. He was utterly spent, his heart taking an effort to beat in his chest, and still had a full week of work plus a social event to attend before he was allowed an all too brief respite, only for it all to carry on afterwards. While he had stopped fighting the current that dragged him along without mercy he still had to fight his way to the surface to breath and he was running out of energy to do so. He would have done anything to simply not be tired anymore.

As though a signal emanated from it, his weary eyes drifted to his briefcase, knowing what was inside. It shouldn't have been so hard in theory; take the pills and solve his problems. Most of the sites he had visited during his multiple internet searches featured people saying how they had helped with energy levels, making it easier to get through the morning, or gave them some form of mental strength.

It was enticing but still he paused. All his life adults had shoved the idea that happiness comes from within down his throat. Have faith in yourself and be independent. Maybe his worldview was off, but it didn't seem healthy to be reliant on a substance to get by. He didn't think that he would get addicted to them but, at the same time, he lacked self-control when it came to things like that and he worried that if he couldn't help himself without them he would be stuck taking them for the rest of his life.

But he was so tired. He felt his resolve cracking as he reached into his bag. Turning the box over in his hands, he studied it like he expected the label to peel off and reveal some sinister warning, exposing the ulterior motives of those evil pharmaceutical companies.

Of course, no such thing happened. Tapping at the case with his bitten nails, he heard the contents jiggling inside. He decided that, perhaps, if he saw what was actually in there he may not find them so intimidating and so, with apprehension boiling in his throat, he unfolded the tab at one end and pulled out the foil covered sheet inside.

They were smaller than he had pictured, and sort of oblong shape. He couldn't see the colour through the white plastic, not that it much mattered, but they appeared to be like any other tablet he had taken. Probably because they were like any other tablet he had taken. There was nothing inherently bad about them, after all, they were an aid to healing, like every medication in existence, the only difference being that these were for a sickness in the mind rather than the body.

Slowly talking himself around, Arthur checked that Francis was still busy before snapping the covering of one of the capsules, a faintly alkaline scent reaching his nose, reminiscent of his old school's science classrooms. He wanted to be better. There was no way he could sustain the way he currently lived. Not to say he planned on doing anything that may jeopardise himself but, when he thought about it, he supposed he wasn't doing himself any favours.

Tipping the tablet out into his hand, he looked at it for a moment, all thoughts disintegrating from his mind as he raised his hand to his mouth and swallowed without letting the pill touch his tongue. He grimaced at the sensation, choking a little when it became lodged halfway down his windpipe, and tried forcing it back harder. The obstruction grating his insides as it made its way down was not the only sinking feeling he endured.

Chest burning as he finally got the pill down, Arthur wiped away the moisture that had collected in the corners of his eyes and tucked the evidence into his pocket. Letting out a juddering breath, he reclined back into his seat once more, noticing how his heart sped but soon slowed back to its natural pace. While there may not have been an instantaneous effect, he knew something was different.

"I think I have made my choice," Francis prefaced his entrance, stepping out looking rather pleased with himself, "What do you think? I would usually go with something more fitted, but this winter has not been so kind to my waistline."

Nodding with glassy eyes, Arthur looked through him. "You look good," he agreed.

"Merci, this one it is, then. And thank you for being so patient, I appreciate it," he added as he went back through the curtain.

Gaze still fixed and hollow, watching where the other had been, Arthur muttered, "Not a problem."

They paid together, the number that came out on the receipt almost giving Arthur a heart attack and made it home at a reasonable time. Going upstairs to bed as soon as they came through the front door, Arthur slung his work clothes onto the chair in the corner, hearing that tell-tale sound when the box in his pocket made contact.

He still felt no different but the information on the packet had said it could take around a week to start feeling the effects of the medication, and this was sort of comforting to him. It would give him the chance to adjust at his own pace, a little better each day, just another thing to slot into his routine. Although he had reservations, it seemed manageable and that was something he hadn't thought in months.

Leaving the box in his jacket, planning to take his intended dose at work, Arthur turned in for the day several hours before Francis made it upstairs, as he had the rest of that week. He felt a little guilty over having spent practically no time with his significant other, however, he was hardly the most desirable company in his current state, barely more than a sentient cadaver ambling about. Survival without life. He could remember being that way back in his school days, around the time of exams where all he seemed to do was study, sleep and eat. Back when he believed that adulthood would be different. By the time the other did make it to bed he was out cold, dreams of dark, warm rooms and silence too pleasant to be woken from by a gentle peck on the cheek.

Nine hours of sleep having the same effect as nine minutes, Arthur made it through his morning regimen, getting into the office at the same time he would any regular week day. As busy as it ever was, he truly doubted that time moved the same within those walls as he sat at his desk, taking out the pills and popping one into his palm. Waiting for the people outside his door to leave before gulping it back with a sip of tea, he was surprised by how easily it went down this time, like his body had decided to accept them and found that, with each passing day, it became easier still. The new addition engrained into his scheduled programming after half the week had gone by, he no longer questioned the action.

He didn't know what he had expected them to do, he wouldn't have been happy with whatever it was, yet was disappointed in finding that nothing changed. Aside from his nightly headache being a little more violent, he was the same as ever and he couldn't help but feel somewhat cheated. After so much strife he was expecting some sort of a reaction. Even a negative effect would have been better than nothing, at least then he would know that they didn't work and could count them out as a solution, but he couldn't do anything with this. They weren't making him any better but, at the same time, he was no worse, so maybe they were doing something that he just couldn't detect?

Scouring the internet again for any help after five days of trying the medication, he continued to come up short of anything useful. So many mixed opinions made for extensive yet unreliable advice and, out of frustration, Arthur swore off using technology in his search for answers. Reading and rereading both the box and the safety leaflet inside, wondering if he had managed to do something wrong, his irritation boiled over and he screwed up the paper, tossing it into the bin in anger. He researched the drug by name, brand, manufacturer but no amount of facts could account for the way he felt, every site stating that effects would vary.

Though he was no longer guilt ridden over lying to Francis, a new emotion kept him preoccupied, the fear that nothing would work. What started out as a passing thought one day became an underlying yet near crippling problem as he would often find himself plummeting into a chasm of his own anxieties. Perhaps he was overreacting, but medication had been a last resort for him and it wasn't doing anything, the realisation leading to the worry that he was beyond help.

Expelling the thought with a heavy breath as this cycle began to repeat for the twentieth time that day, Arthur stood from where he was sat on the edge of his mattress staring into space and went to the mirror. He flipped up the collar of his pristine, white shirt and draped the tie he held around his neck, tying a simple knot. Straightening himself out as though it made any difference to his haggard appearance, the nose on the face of the reflected man wrinkled in distaste.

"Alfred and Matthew said they will be here in five minutes," Francis informed as he came into the room. Looking up from his phone to lay eyes upon his lover, a gentle simper graced his lips, his expression soft as a rose petal as he gazed at the other.

A frown lightly creasing Arthur's forehead, he looked over briefly, eyes flitting away as soon as they met the ones that looked at his as though he were some treasured family heirloom.

"What?" he demanded when Francis said nothing more.

Shoulder rising and falling in a nonchalant shrug, the older man's smile stretched a little wider. "I like looking at beautiful things," he stated simply.

An endeared chuckle slipped from his throat as he watched his partner roll his eyes and begin to fuss over himself in the mirror.

"You really should have done something with your hair though," he clucked, coming closer to adjust his tie, "It is becoming unruly."

"Says you," Arthur snorted, allowing himself to be preened.

"My hair is timeless and chic whereas yours," he paused to tap a finger on the end of the smaller man's slender nose, "looks like a crow's nest."

Nose twitching like a rabbits' at the contact, Arthur scowled. "At least I bothered to shave," he pointed out.

"But do you not see how some stuble adds a touch of rugged masculinity?"

Managing to be sarcastic without speaking a word, Arthur raised an eyebrow at the use of two adjectives he had never once associated with his partner.

"Do not raise those caterpillars at me, mon cher, we both know I look good," Francis lilted, in high spirits as he looked forward to the event, something that Arthur envied him for. Running his hands over the smaller man's chest to cup the back of his neck where he twirled a few strands of the overgrown mop between his fingers, adoration fogged Francis' gaze. "As do you," he hummed.

Squirming internally at the affection, Arthur gave a stiff smile and looked away. Fortunately, he was spared the loving torture as there was a knocking at the door, signalling the arrival of the rest of their party.

"I'll get it," he took the chance to slip from the other's grasp, leaving him alone in the bedroom as he descended the stairs.

Again, a thumping on the wood sounded, harder than before as Alfred became impatient.

"I'll thank you not to put a hole through my door, please," Arthur snapped as he opened it to let his brother in.

"Sorry dude, but I was freezing my freaking ass off out there," Alfred complained as he pushed past the smaller man into the warmth of the hallway, Matthew following behind.

"Why aren't you wearing a coat? It is winter, you realise," the elder Kirkland commented on his brother's lack of appropriate clothing.

"I know right, like, who chooses to have a party at the coldest time of year," the American showed his disapproval of their host's planning skills to which Arthur tiredly rolled his eyes.

"Stop complaining, Al, it's not that cold out," Matthew sounded equally as weary with his brother as Arthur did, turning to him with a disparaging sigh, "He's been like this all week."

The all too relatable feeling teased a smile from the older man. "Are you ready to go?" he asked, looking at both in turn, noticing something missing the older twin's outfit, "Alfred, do you not have a tie?"

"Oh, yeah, right," he seemed to remember, pulling an untied bowtie from his blazer pocket and holding it out with his sweetest pout, "You mind?"

"Dear God, you're almost twenty, you should be able to tie your own tie by now," Arthur chided, taking the strip of material nonetheless.

"I can tie a tie, that's a bowtie, they're way harder," Alfred pedantically defended, ducking so that his brother could loop it around his neck.

Sending him the deadpanned glare, Arthur fastened the bowtie. "Then buy a tie," he tutted, reaching up to attempt to flatten the little spike of hair that continually fell out of line atop the younger man's head, lip curling when his hand came away slathered in gel.

"Can't, I'm saving for America," Alfred, as always, didn't take the snide tone to heart.

Arthur only gave a faintly vexed grunt as he went over to Matthew, signalling for him to turn and face him so that that he could fuss over the symmetry of his collar.

"Oh, si jolie, how nice we all look," Francis sung as he came down to join them.

"Thanks man. Did you put our names on the gift?" Alfred asked with a hopeful look.

"Oui and I just called the cab," the Frenchman replied as he fetched the overpriced bottle of champagne from the kitchen counter.

Brushing a final particle of dust from Matthew's shoulder, Arthur gave an approving nod and went upstairs to collect his jacket. He pulled it on, adjusting the way it sat across his shoulders and giving himself a once over in the mirror, his frame slumping when he realised nothing he could do short of surgery could fix how he looked, almost shuddering as he thought of how Francis still found him physically appealing.

He ran his fingers through his hair, finding it longer than he thought it was, and let his hand rest on the back of his head as he watched himself in the mirror, unfeeling. The medication he had been putting off taking that day sat hidden beneath one of the shirts on the chair and he uncovered it to take one, hardly noticing as it went down. About to put it back in its hiding spot, Arthur paused, glancing down at the pack. Although he could practically recite what was written on it by that point, his eyes drifted to the recommended dosage section, trailing over the words.

Between one and three pills. Tempting. Too tempting. They were still drugs, he told himself, even if they were prescription, and, although they may not have any serious side effects he still had to be careful. But, if the minimum dosage wasn't working then the logical next step seemed obvious. His lips twitched as he considered it, picking at the edge of the box.

"Arthur, cab's here," the call of his brother broke his concentration.

Eyes jumping from the box in his hand to his reflection then back down, Arthur gave it a final second's thought before pocketing it and hurrying downstairs to where his family was waiting in the car.

The local recreation centre where the event was to be held wasn't far off and, although the whole town referred to it as a rec centre, it was more of an all-purpose hall of a nondescript nature than anything specific. Not the sort of place anyone had pictured Feliciano holding any sort of occasion, however, on entering, the group was shocked to find the space totally transformed.

Above them the ceiling was draped in great swathes of billowing linen as though a cloudy summer sky had been wrangled inside, the walls decorated similarly, the white, gossamer fabric bunched up into bows with their tails streaming to the floor. Flowers of uncountable species coloured in varying shades of cream and pink sat in baskets throughout the hall, their perfume masking the scent of musty wood that usually filled the space. At one end some sort of music board was set up, light jazz infusing the air to which couples danced, at the other was a bar and between them were small, round tables, set in white cloth with centre pieces.

A gasp and subsequent exhale of utter ecstasy came from behind and Arthur turned back to see his partner, hands clasped and moony eyed, staring in awe.

"That man can truly work wonders," he gushed, his romantic tendencies being thoroughly indulged.

"He probably had planners do it," Arthur voiced his doubt, "It is rather impressive, though."

"Jeez, I'll say," Alfred voiced with a whistle, "Didn't look this nice at our prom, eh Mattie."

The man addressed shook his head in agreeance as the group ventured further in, coming across a table against the wall stacked with gifts. Their single bag looked a little frugal next to some of the larger, more extravagantly shaped packages but Arthur told himself it was the thought that counted, not that he had put in a lot of that.

They left it amongst the grander tributes and Arthur followed the others as they skirted around the edge of the hall, however, his eye caught something that made him pause momentarily. A frame that stood at the other end of the table containing a picture of an elderly man that he recognised as Ludwig and Gilbert's late grandfather. The kindly, weathered face held an uncanny resemblance to the younger of the brothers and Arthur found something in his chest warmed by the uncharacteristic show of sentiment on his part.

Aiming for one of the tables, the four of them meandered amongst the other guests, avoiding the dancefloor that seemed to be occupied by half the Vatican, and would have made it had they not been spotted by an eagle eyed Hungarian.

"My goodness, don't we all look fancy tonight," Elizabeta cooed as she sashayed towards them, heels clicking on the hardwood floor.

"Oh cherie, I am afraid that compliment must go to you," Francis suavely declined in a way that could have been mistaken for a wandering eye, taking her hand to kiss.

With a tinkling laugh, she allowed herself to be admired before taking her arm back. "I may be a heart breaker, but I am not a homewrecker, Mr Bonnefoy," she teased, smirking, as she moved on to the man beside him.

"You do look stunning, Liz," Arthur persisted to flatter her, noting how her gaze fell somewhat bashfully and her smile stretched a little wider at his words, as though the compliment meant more coming from him.

"This old thing," she joked in reference to the emerald velour that clung to her body in the most enticing ways as she leant in to peck both cheeks in greeting, "And look how handsome, all dressed up in your little suits," she squealed, turning to the younger pair.

"Little?" Arthur knitted his brow at the expression.

Hugging the older woman, the twins displayed their happiness to see her with broad grins and she glanced back to look around the group.

"You must come and sit with us, Toni is already here too," she instructed, leading the way to a table at the edge of the dancefloor which was already occupied.

Antonio rose with his arms extended as they approached, dealing out hugs with fervent slaps on the back.

"Isn't it a great day!" he enthused, "Everybody made it! Hey, espera un minuto." Cupping both hands to his mouth, the Spaniard turned to the crowd, calling out the name of the man missing from their reunion.

A silver head popped up above the rest of the bodies that filled the hall and pointed in their direction, flashing them a grin before ducking down out of view again. Shortly after, a path cleared around them as their friend bounded through with the energy of a nuclear-powered puppy.

"Hey, there you guys are, we're so glad you made it," he thanked on behalf of his brother, teeth bared and eyes shining, clearly enjoying the festivities.

"How could we miss this?" Francis looked around himself to emphasise his sense of wonder, "Feli has outdone himself."

"Ja, I think the kid put more effort into this than everything else he's done in his life combined," Gilbert poked a light bit of fun at his soon to be brother in law, "West regretted not being more involved when he saw the bill, though."

"You tell him to give Feli what he wants, it was worth every penny, you couldn't hope for a better atmosphere," Elizabeta sighed, gazing out to the dancefloor with a blithe glint in her eye. "Oh Alfie, won't you come and dance with your Auntie Liza," she crooned, taking the younger man by the hand before he had a chance to argue, "It's been so long since I've had a tall, handsome man at my side."

Meeting the mischievous glance he was shot from the woman with narrowed eyes, Gilbert watched them sweep onto the floor but tore his eyes away swiftly.

"So, how is he coping with all this?" Arthur enquired after the more introverted of the Beilschmidt's.

"Let's just say, for once he's not so embarrassed to have his loudmouthed older brother around," the older man chuckled. Throwing a look over his shoulder back in the direction he had come from, he smiled to himself and shook his head. "I should get back to them actually, I promised I'd help chaperone. Champagne is on the house tonight," he left them with a wink, speeding back to his brother's aid.

"He certainly seems in a pleasant mood," Francis commented as the back of the platinum head disappeared into the thrush.

"Everybody is, amigo, it's a wonderful occasion!" Antonio rejoiced to his friends, "You stay here, I'm getting us some drinks."

He left them to mind the table, heading towards the bar to procure the free liquor, Matthew deciding to help and following behind.

"Are you sure you should be drinking?" Francis queried with a light frown, "With the medication."

The thought hadn't occurred to Arthur and, although he hadn't planned on drinking too much that night he regretted remembering to take it that day.

"I'm sure one won't hurt," he dispelled.

"Alright," the other conceded, "I will limit myself also, I think."

Arthur made a vague humming sound to feign attention as he watched the couples out on the open floor, swaying in time to the slow beat. Somewhere in the middle of the cluster, Eliza and Alfred kept coming into view between other couples, carefree laughter easily tumbling from them, audible all the way from where Arthur sat.

Line of vision alternating between the hall and his partner, Francis leant his elbow on the table, resting his cheek on his knuckles as his eyes settled softly upon his object of desire. "Will you dance with me later?" he requested innocently.

"No," came his straight answer as he received a side glance from the man beside him.

Exhaling heavily from his nostrils, the older man continued to watch his lover, observing the impassive expression he held.

"I do not understand how you can still have such a sour face. Do you not think it is nice?"

Two muted, green balls turned to him briefly then went back to overseeing the happenings of the evening absently.

"I do," was all he offered.

Glasses were placed on the table as the other two returned with their bounty, both taking seats at the table. Grasping one of the delicate flutes by the stem, mostly to give his hands something to do, Arthur took a sip. The drink left his mouth dry once he swallowed it, instinctually causing him to take another taste, this, of course, having the same effect.

Holding the crystal ware delicately between his fingers, he spent a moment watching how the bubbles continued to rise, seemingly out of nothing, like a tiny air jet was at the bottom of the glass. Mesmerised, he allowed the conversation around him to flow without his input, eventually looking up to try and locate his brother out on the dance floor once more. Brows furrowing in confusion when he saw the younger man, he found he appeared to be dancing with a very small, very elderly woman, face bright as ever as he nodded along whatever she was telling him as he hunched over to shuffle around the floor with her.

Such a pure image helped to alleviate Arthur's dour mood and something akin to pride swelled in him at the thought of having had a hand in raising such a kind-hearted person. However, he knew most of the credit for that should rightfully go to the woman that had instilled a strong sense of human decency into all three of her sons.

An amused chuckle came from his side and he looked to see that Francis was watching the same scene.

"That boy could charm anyone," he commended.

Shaking his head, Arthur let slip a breathy laugh of his own. "I don't know how he does it," he admitted, sipping the drink he wasn't enjoying.

Eyes wandering about the hall, he could put names to most of the faces he came across. A lot of his colleagues were in attendance and he hoped this wasn't because Ludwig had no friends outside of the office. The couple they were there to celebrate were nowhere in sight, but Arthur hadn't expected to spend any time with them, well aware that he was probably just a seat filler for Ludwig's side of the church when the wedding came.

"Making friends, I see," Francis jested as Alfred made his way over, "Who was that?"

Shrugging, unfazed, the teen helped himself to a sip from one of the glasses at the table. "No idea, she only spoke Italian," he sat himself down between his brothers, removing his blazer and slinging it over the back of the chair, "Those Vargas' can party, I'm telling you."

"If you think this is a lot just wait until the big day," Antonio warned with his eyebrows held aloft.

"What have you done with Eliza?" Francis enquired as to the whereabouts of the lady he had last been seen with, "I am in the mood for dancing."

"Not sure, that guy Roderich came and took her away," Alfred recounted, scouring the hall for any sign of the illusive woman, "I saw her over…" his voice trailed off, prompting the others to look at him questioningly then follow his line of view to whatever had made him stop short.

Four thoroughly unimpressed pairs of eyes were aimed in his direction once they located the source of his distraction.

"You so much as think about it, Alfred, and I swear to God," Arthur threatened, narrowed glare boring into the side of his brother's skull.

"I'm not thinking about anything, I just didn't know she was here," the younger man's words petered away again, turning to a mumbled hum, "She looks good…"

Across the hall, Natalia stood beside her sister, face straight as she engaged in conversation with some stranger, oblivious of the fact she was under intense surveillance. One of her pale hands held a glass of red wine while the other played with a strand of her snowy hair, an action Alfred didn't realise he was subconsciously mimicking, as she leant disinterestedly against the wall.

"It doesn't matter how she looks, you shouldn't be looking at her," his elder sibling scolded, steely tone doing little to dampen Alfred's fancy.

Stripping his gaze from the young woman only to have it flick back every few seconds he found his attentions drawn to her as though magnetised.

"I'm not looking at her," he lied to himself, hand moving from his hair to his lips where he bit nervously at the nail of his thumb. "You haven't heard if she's seeing anyone, have you?"

Exasperated vocalisations erupted from the group around him.

"You've got to be kidding," Matthew sent him a condemning look to rival Arthur's.

"Please, it hurts to watch," Antonio groaned from behind the hands that covered his face.

Alfred's gaze dropped at the sounds of despair around him, head still angled in the direction of his past lover, hands falling to his lap dejectedly in a moment of unexpected melancholy.

Remorseful looks being exchanged around the table, Francis leaned closer to the younger man, his voice sympathetic as he tried to inject some positivity back into the boy.

"Why should you care if she is or not? I thought you were moving on. What about that Michelle girl, you like her, no?"

Avoiding eye contact, Alfred gave a one shouldered shrug, studying his hands in great detail.

"Yeah, sure, but I don't see that going anywhere," he exhaled.

"Why not? Just last week you were telling us how amazing she is," Arthur pointed out as he saw his brother talking himself out of the relationship.

He took a hissing breath in and looked up, still not meeting anyone's gaze but forcing himself not to look where he clearly wanted to.

"I saw her again and she's still a nice girl and all, but I just didn't get that…" his brown wrinkled as he tried to think of the right word, "That spark. You know what I mean?"

While Arthur went to roll his eyes, Francis nodded gently in understanding of what he meant.

"You haven't given her a fair chance, you need to see someone more than twice to know whether you like them," the Englishman went to argue but found himself at odds with both his brother and his partner.

"On the contrary," Francis interjected before the other could reply, "If you feel nothing for the girl then you cannot will it into being as you would like. There is no point wasting one another's time," he theorised, quick to add, "but that does not mean you should run back to someone who made you miserable for the sake of company."

"Si, you're young, why not spend some time single," Antonio encouraged, receiving an unenthusiastic tilt of the lips from the younger man.

Seeing his sibling still hung up on something that had happened months ago concerned Arthur, it wasn't like him to hold onto things. He had always been so quick to move on, never taking anything too seriously. Perhaps he was finally maturing.

"Really though, Al, you need to stop fawning over girls like this. There are more important things," his well-meant criticism coaxed at least a simper from the other.

"Maybe you should be more worried about the women that are interested in you," the Frenchman snickered, gesturing in the direction of the dance floor where the same old woman was coming towards them with a toothless grin and her arms outstretched. "It seems she likes you," he jibed.

"Oh God," the man in demand chortled quietly, ducking down in his seat like it would save him.

To the infinite amusement of all but the youngest of the group, however, this somehow worked as the woman approached and moved past the boy she aimed for, going to Matthew instead.

"Oh, no, I'm sorry I think you want my brother, I'm not-" he protested, flustered, as the old woman took him by the hand and pulled him from his seat.

Desperate eyes were met only by snorted laughter coming from behind cupped mouths as he was dragged onto the dancefloor by a woman half his height. They watched for a while, the introverted man doing his best to humour his companion with polite conversation while shooting his twin a death glare every time she looked away, providing further entertainment.

Diverting his attention to the twin still present, Arthur was glad to see his downtrodden mood rectified, a grin splitting his mouth at the scene, yet he couldn't help but note the way his eyes seemed to twitch towards the corner where the ghostly white woman lingered.

Cool jazz instrumentals drifted through the air, Francis humming along, slightly off key and tapping his foot in time with the beat. The minute pinching in his ribcage that Arthur had been well acquainted with as of late flared up at the sight of his partner so enthralled by the event when he didn't have the heart to participate, feeling that he had disappointed the ever-patient man once again. Out of habit, he drank deeply from his glass to dull the emotion, forgetting he was meant to be practicing self-control.

"So, when are we going to be throwing one of these for you two?"

Instantly choking on the liquid in his mouth as it seemed to find its way down the wrong hole, Arthur could feel his face heating up while he struggled for breath, his reaction admittedly disproportionate for the simple question.

"Tell us what you really think, why don't you," Alfred sarcastically commented, his eyebrows held high.

"Oh, I believe he has made it quite clear," Francis muttered, arms folded and not nearly as amused.

Calming himself, the flustered man had to clear his throat several times before speaking, his words coming out hoarse.

"Sorry, you just caught me of guard."

A scoffing sigh came from the man at his side while Antonio looked awkwardly between them.

"I was just kidding, buddy. Not trying to rush you into anything," he disclaimed with a playful air.

By the look on his partner's face, however, Arthur could tell he wasn't taking it quite so light-heartedly, a heaviness plaguing him as he tried to take back his indiscretion.

"No, really, I didn't mean anything like that," he stuttered, flinching as he looked to his lover.

"It is alright, cher, I have learned not expect too much from you in that regard," his retort was biting, and Arthur felt the full sting of it, "I am sure if you had it your way we would live our lives in wedlock."

"Is that so?" the brunette appeared genuinely surprised by this, "I always thought you two would be the first to get married."

"Well, I have no objections," Francis uttered, not quite under his breath.

Upper body having turned a noticeable pink, Arthur felt the need to justify himself. "I'm not saying I never want to get married, I just don't see the urgency," he explained himself, "And neither of us are religious so there's not really a point to it."

"You do not need to be religious to make a commitment," Francis posited.

"There are other kinds of commitment," Arthur insisted, "We have joint bank accounts, we bought a bloody house together, we're practically married as it is."

"Dude, stop digging, you've hit Australia," Alfred cut through the exchange before a full-on debate could begin.

"I suppose some of us appreciate the old traditions more than others," the classic romanticist mused, punctuating his thought with a sip of champagne, allowing the rim of the glass to rest against his pillowy lips a moment with an absent expression.

"Sí, if I told mi madre I didn't want to get married she might die on the spot," Antonio aggrandized, "She's always telling me I should go home and find a nice Spanish girl, so we can have the wedding in the same church as her and papa."

"Sounds like everything's planned out for you already. Getting married on some sunny Spanish hillside, I'd take that," Alfred pondered the thought and turned to his brother, head held at an inquisitive tilt. "Do you really never think about it? Like, ever? Not even as a fantasy?"

His disbelieving tone provoked Arthur to quirk a brow in return. "Do you?" he shot back, genuinely curious.

"I'm not saying I obsess over it or anything, but I wonder what I'd want my wedding to be like sometimes," the younger man confessed.

As expected, the hint caught Francis' full attention and he leant forward, urging him to elaborate. "Go on, cherie, you have us intrigued."

Glancing around at the interested faces that watched him, Alfred winced one eye in thought.

"Well, first off, Mattie would have to be my best man," he began, "No offense to you guys but we've got the whole twin thing," he spoke to both of his former guardians, "And my first dance would be to Elvis Presley 'Can't Help Falling in Love with You', that's non-negotiable," his tone was certain as he described his vision with unexpected detail. "I'd want it to be during the summer so that we could have the wedding photos outside because it would be at one of those big, old stately homes that mom used to take us to, you remember?" he looked to Arthur with a reminiscent smile, the older man returning it warmly, "And then, when the sun set, we could let off lanterns over the grounds."

There was a moment's silence wherein he was sent three sets of admittedly impressed expressions before Francis couldn't hold in his abundance of feelings any longer.

"Oh, mon doux garcon, that is the most adorable thing I have ever heard," he gushed, clasping his hands to his cheeks, close to tearing up at the thought, "Who knew you were so romantic. I did manage to teach you something after all."

Chuckling at his reaction, Alfred shook his head as he played down his fantasies. "I don't know, it's just fun to think about."

"You'd better start saving," Arthur quipped.

"But that's where you guys come in," the other grinned, fluttering his eyelashes, prompting a sarcastically barked laugh from his sibling.

As they continued their carefree interactions, the conversation was interrupted when, from the other end of the hall, an explosion of irate, Italian slurs sounded.

Grimacing, Antonio turned his attention to the direction they seemed to be coming from.

"Maybe it's time I checked on Lovi," he thought aloud as he rose from his seat.

The dwindling group sent him looks of empathy and good luck as he departed for the ensuing stress and, once out of sight, Francis stood also, smoothing out his shirt.

"I still feel like dancing tonight," he announced, scanning the room until his gaze fell on his friend, bored half to death by the bespectacled man at another table, "You do not mind?"

Not sure why he was being asked, Arthur shook his head and watched as his significant other approached the brunette woman. Her face glowed with unspoken gratitude as he stole her away, whisking her onto the dancefloor with a natural grace.

Sat in his chair sideways so as to survey the hall, Arthur let his jaw rest on its low, upholstered back as his eyes continued to trail them. They suited one another; the way Francis' hand matched the curve of her waist, the elegant flow of their bodies, legs stepping alongside one another with coordinated ease, they looked a natural couple. Something stirred in him at the sight, not jealousy nor suspicion as they were two of the very few people in the world that he trusted wholeheartedly, but something more shameful, duller. Inadequacy, perhaps, for the fact he couldn't be the one to make his lover smile as he was now, with someone else.

He had always been that way, though, incapable of being so unrestrained. Even when they had first become an item and Francis continually recommended restaurants and parks that they should visit together, pestering him for a 'nice night together', he just hadn't seen the point in such frivolous acts. Where the more passionate of them had accused him of being cold hearted, he simply thought himself pragmatic. Candlelit dinners and kisses in the rain were all well and good but they told you nothing about a person, it was all so superficial, what people assumed love was.

As Arthur saw it, to love was to know the worst of a person. To see them at their lowest, most pathetic point and still want them as much as before. When they had been penniless, working all the hours of the day and barely looking at one another yet still fell asleep in each other's arms, that was love. When they had woken up side by side with clumps of Francis' hair littering the pillow as it started to fall out from stress and all Arthur did was smile and change the sheets, that was love. When Francis had known enough was enough without Arthur having to say a word and forced him into that doctors' office, that was love.

Rings and champagne and an old man with a cross telling two people they could sleep in the same bed; that may make a person happy, but it wasn't love because real emotion runs deeper than any act can convey.

"In your wedding scenario," Arthur spoke to his brother, tone pensive, "Is Natalia the bride?"

"That's the weird thing," a contemplative half frown came to the younger man's face, "I never think about the person I'm marrying because it's not our wedding, it's mine. Like, when I do meet someone I want to marry we'll probably imagine something totally different together, what I told you guys is just something I like to think about. I know it'll probably never happen."

He shouldn't have been surprised to hear something so self-aware come from the other, the boy wasn't stupid, but still, the older man was silently taken aback.

With one last look to his other half, twirling to his heart's content, seemingly lighter for the lack of him, Arthur stood.

"Do you mind watching the table?" he requested of the last person sitting who nodded his consent.

He had lost sight of the couple he spied on, blocked out by the multitude of others who celebrated the joyous occasion uninhibited, and so edged his way between the tables, past the bar and down the little side hall that led to the bathrooms.

The door opened as he reached it and he stood aside to let the man that exited pass him, offering that terse upturn of the lips that strangers exchange, then sped through. Closing himself into one of the cubicles, he lowered the lid of the toilet and sat on it, placing his elbows on his knees so as to lean into his hands with a laboured sigh.

From the moment he had left the house he knew he wasn't going to enjoy himself but that didn't mean he didn't want to. He would have loved to just give himself over to the atmosphere as everyone else seemed capable of doing but even when surrounded by his friends he was still on the outside looking in, imitating. It was draining. Lifting his head to stare with drooping eyes at the back of the stall door he bit his lip, the tattered skin splitting, the taste of blood hitting the tip of his tongue. He licked it away and dabbed at the opening with his blazer sleeve, the crimson stain invisible against the black material.

He stayed in there a while, not doing anything, just staring into space as he thought about how tired he was, taking some time to regain his social stamina before facing the rest of the night. Once no longer in danger of publicly passing out, he emerged from his hiding, standing before the mirror to tighten his tie. The silk pressed against his throat in a way he was used to, felt strange without.

The exhaustion making him numb, he was saddened to find his first impulse was to take the pills from his pocket, looking down to find them in his hands without a second thought. His inner monologue picked up where it had left off, only he found it wasn't much of an argument this time. It wasn't clear whether it was the voice of reason or temptation that urged him to do it, but Arthur found them often to be one and the same when a person was desperate.

He was about to follow the voice's advice when he heard the door swing open and, not wanting to be caught, made to conceal the box in his jacket. However, as he released his hold he found he had missed the pocket he aimed for, the box falling and hitting the ground with a clattering louder to his ears than it actually was. It skidded across the tiled floor to stop a few paces away, closer to the man who had just entered than the man who had dropped it and, as Arthur had feared he would, the other man stepped forward to pick it up for him.

"You, um, dropped this."

Matthew held the box out to him with a sheepish expression as Arthur looked at him, whole body burning, mortified.

"Thanks," he heard come from his own mouth as his arm reached to take it.

Holding the packet, arm down by his side, posture stiff to the point his muscled strained, Arthur remained quiet, as did Matthew, as both waited for something to be said.

"It's, uh, not quite…I mean, it's not, um," the muted sounds of the party prevented his train of thought from running smoothly as Arthur stumbled through several false starts.

"Arthur," the other caught his eye in a way he was unable to look away from and admitted, a little guiltily, "Francis told me."

Unsure whether this made things more or less awkward, the older man went back to standing in uncomfortable silence as he mentally kicked himself for being so inept around his own damn family.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean that we're spying on you or anything, it's not like he tells me absolutely everything, he just…"

"He's told you everything then," the older man stopped his sibling's stammering, not having meant to cause him such distress.

Offering a pained, apologetic smile, Matthew was grateful that an unconcerned one was returned, showing his brother wasn't offended in any way.

"I'm sorry, though. I don't want you to feel like we're ganging up on you or anything, he just likes to talk things over with me, I guess," he apologised again, tugging at the sleeves of his blazer.

Arthur shook his head and tucked the box away, his expression gentle. For whatever reason, he had never been able to harbour the slightest hint of anger towards the younger of his twin brothers. Had Alfred walked in just then he'd surely have told him to mind his own business and proceeded to hide the truth but not with Matthew. He had a quality to him, an innocence that made lying to him feel wrong.

"It's alright, just don't worry about me, I'm fine," he attempted to end the exchange with a nod, however, Matthew returned no signal that he was happy to leave things there.

Gaze flitting away from his brother, he adjusted his glasses, seeming to prepare something in his mind, then looked him in the eye once more.

"Look, it may not be for me to say, but I'm your brother and I do worry about you," he spoke earnestly, voice soft as ever, and Arthur shuffled in place, horribly uneasy, "and I'm really glad that you're trying something. You know, trying to help yourself. There's no reason to be self-conscious about it."

Perhaps his tie was just too tight but, there was a knot in his throat as Arthur responded.

"It wasn't really my choice but thank you," he made light of the sentiment.

This time the younger man smiled. "I know it's hard for you," he empathised. He had always had a great affinity for empathy.

Thinking their conversation was over, Arthur moved away from the sink he had been standing by but was halted again by his brother.

"Hey, uh, do you mind if I give you something?" he asked, an eyebrow raised with some apprehension.

"Of course not, what is it?" Arthur questioned in return.

"Just a second." Matthew pulled out his phone, typing something then looked over expectantly.

A vibration alerted Arthur that his sibling had sent him something and unlocked his screen to a message with a phone number and a name he didn't recognise. In need of explanation, he frowned confusedly at the other.

"It's a number for a therapist's office," he informed, "I know one of the councillors that works there, he's a friend of mine, from school. He was in his last year when I started, and he helped me out with papers and stuff, I don't think I would have done half as well if he weren't there. He's very good at what he does. If you ask for him he'd be happy to see you."

Despite the glowing review, Arthur opened his mouth to protest.

"You don't have to call but I want you to think about it," Matthew urged, tone benevolent, "I study therapy because I think it works and I just want to do what I can."

His kindness was touching, and Arthur lamented his inability to accept and appreciate such emotionality, the best he was able to offer being a curt bob of his head and a stilted assurance of, "Alright."

Pleased with the compliance he received, even if it may not have been fully truthful, Matthew allowed his brother to leave without further insistence.

Back out amongst the thick of things, Arthur was scouted by his partner before he could make it back to the table, his hopes of enduring the night in relative peace dashed as the other took his hand, leading him away from the rest of the group.

"Come, mon cher, you are not going to get away with being antisocial all night," he tsked as he led his unwilling prop out into the open hall.

The rest of the evening crawled by in various bouts of obligatory small talk with people Arthur sort of knew from acquaintanceships made long ago. About as invested in these strangers lives as he was in his own at that point, he leant on his significant other for most of the conversation, chiming in at points so as not to seem rude but spent a majority of the time just nodding. Surely anyone who wasn't stupid could see that he didn't give a shit, but Arthur found that when talking about themselves people generally didn't care whether their audience payed attention, too happy to believe they were the centre of attention for a short while. However, Francis, ever the networking butterfly, seemed contented to flit between groups, subtly mentioning his studio when the opportunity arose and raving about the event as though they weren't currently at it.

At the outskirts of one such group, while the other picked up his go to ice breaker, Arthur stood alienated, their words brushing past him like a whistling breeze, their very presence impalpable. Even Francis, who remained close enough to touch, just didn't seem real. It was as though they were flat, the whole room was flat, and Arthur was the only one with a shape.

Averting his eyes, he looked elsewhere for anything more interesting, latching onto the back of a nut-brown head. He had half expected to see Erika but wasn't sure, she was still just an intern after all, and felt somewhat compelled to go and say something. Picturing how that would go, however, he decided against it as he could think of nothing other than tedious pleasantries and perhaps something work related to say, neither of which interested him.

The young woman he now realised he had been staring at turned to glance in his direction and, although his first instinct was to look away and feign ignorance, he stayed watching her as she smiled and waved. He feared she may break away from her group to come over to him but, to his relief, she remained hanging off her brother's arm, melting into him almost with how tightly she clung. Raising a hand in return, the infantile woman went back to her own conversation as Arthur went back to his.

An endless few hours later, he was released from his personal hell when the group reunited and the night around them showed the first signs of closing down. Although the more personable members of the small family probably would have liked to have stayed out longer, the others showed clear signs of social fatigue and so they bid goodbye to the friends they could find and took a cab home.

Dropping Alfred and Matthew off at their apartment first then making a second trip to the Kirkland-Bonnefoy residence, the couple came into the hallway, Arthur practically falling through the front door, his whole demeanour sunken. The thought that he had two days off to look forward to could have brought tears to his eyes, God knows he had earned it, and he had no intention of waking before midday.

"I am sorry if I seemed annoyed earlier," Francis apologised for something that had totally slipped Arthur's mind, "I do not mean to seem like I am forcing you down the aisle, I was simply taken in by the mood."

Barely able to remember the discussion, the other thought nothing of sending a tired smile his way.

"I know," he muttered, "Sorry for being an asshole about it."

"It is understandable," Francis chuckled as he crossed out several days on the calendar.

As he leaned against the door frame of the living room Arthur looked over, watching the older man, and felt that lingering tweak eating at him yet again.

"Really though," his remorse filled tone caused the other to glance over, "I hate disappointing you."

The softest of azure eyes sent their devotion without words and Arthur could barely stand to look at them, shifting his attentions to the living room.

"We should really redecorate," he changed the subject but could hear footsteps approaching him.

"I have been meaning to pick out some paint samples," the other spoke in a semi whisper, leaning his forearm on the doorframe above the smaller man's head, "How about blue?"

Arthur could feel the heat from his body, smell his personal scent. "I don't know," he rejected the idea, wanting to perpetuate the conversation in an attempt to prevent what was about to happen, "It might be too cold."

A low rumbling came from behind as the feeling of bodily heat intensified, a hand on his waist coaxing him to turn so that their faces were close enough for their noses to touch.

"You look very handsome tonight," Francis murmured against his lips, kissing him as though to prove his point.

He felt one hand grip his ass and the other on his back as he was kissed, deeply. His own arms remained by his sides, still with the hope that, perhaps, a kiss was all his lover wanted but, as the hold on his backside migrated to his front, it became clear this was not the case.

Lips moving in time with the ones pressed against them, Arthur heard the other's breath grow heavier, his own body reacting as it should to his experienced touch but found his desire had left him. Telling himself time and again to put an end to it, he was unable to.

His eyes still open as their mouths were entangled he saw the strain, the need on Francis' face. It wasn't fair for him to deny the man he loved the satisfaction. Lord only knew why he still found him attractive, as far as Arthur was concerned he was disgusting, but for whatever reason he did.

Guided gently to the sofa where he leant against the arm of it, he raised his hands to hold the lapels of the other's blazer, an action which seemed to excite him greatly. The melding of their mouths was tender, no bites nor teeth, simply a sweet, yearning kiss as Francis unzipped the fly that prevented him from getting to what he wanted.

Breath hitching at the way he was touched, the pleasure did nothing to make Arthur want it yet his hands moved to reciprocate. He was thankful that Francis didn't break their lips apart to catch his dead eyes.

His blazer was knocked from his shoulders, tie slipped off and top buttons undone. The last things acting as barriers were dropped and Arthur shuffled back on the arm of the sofa, unashamed but detached as his legs were spread by caring hands.

He had no right to feel used and he didn't. He felt very little, in fact, while his partner moved slowly, lovingly with lips pressed against him the whole time. Returning the affection as best he could, Arthur did his part, partly so that it could end sooner and partly because Francis deserved that at the very least. He wanted to want it, to feel the heat of lust, the elation of someone's undivided attentions showered upon him so freely but all he could do in that moment was think to himself 'why?'. Why did anyone like him?

Movements growing faster, Arthur wrapped both arms around the other's shoulders for stability as his legs were held below the knees, a light scratching at the larger man's back proving too much for him as his actions came to an abrupt halt with a choked moan.

Pulling away briefly to smile with chaste passion as his panting abated, Francis came in close again, his heart beating rapidly against Arthur's own as he peppered the pale body under him with kisses, moving progressively lower.

Quickly placing a hand beneath his chin, Arthur brought him upright to press their lips together a final time then moved away, not able to fake enjoyment and wishing to escape the unwarranted adoration. He slipped on his boxer shorts and collected his trousers from the ground, avoiding the look of confusion he was being sent.

"Is everything alright?" Francis asked, noting that his lover seemed to eagerly attempt his getaway.

Casting a glance behind him, Arthur almost winced at the expression he saw, one of guileless worry, like a dog that was scolded for something it didn't understand.

"Yeah, fine," he tried to sound breezy, which he evidently did not as Francis furrowed his brow.

"Are you sure?" he sensed his other half's unease at something, pulling up his trousers to walk over, reaching to touch his arm.

Swerving away from the contact, Arthur shook his head. "I'm fine, there's nothing wrong," he convinced limply.

Retracting his hand, guilt instantly came to the Frenchman's eyes, slight panic also.

"Amour, did I hurt you?" he asked, coming closer still, prompting the man he only wanted to help to retreat further.

"No, of course not," he rejected the concern, turning and climbing a few steps up the stairs until Francis caught him by the wrist, gently like he was afraid of injuring the fragile limb.

Unsuspecting of the contact, Arthur flinched a little out of surprise, causing the man that held him to release his grasp immediately, backing away.

"Arthur, what is it?" he beseeched, fear underlying his words, "You are acting like I…like I have assaulted you."

Face turning near white as he became overwrought by the thought, Arthur cut in.

"No, you bloody idiot. Dear Lord, why would you think that?"

"Because I am not a goddamned mind reader!" Francis looked about to vomit, his overactive mind assuming the worst, "Que diable est la question?"

Despite trying to do something right, Arthur found he had, yet again, only hurt the man he wanted to please. Lowering himself down onto the step he stood on, he ran his hands through his hair, head hanging in dismay.

"I don't know, Francis," he groaned, "You know I don't know. I never do."

Observing closely how the other reacted, Francis sensed the nature of what the issue may be. He calmed himself and came to crouch in front of him on the step below where he sat.

"You are not obligated to have sex with me, you know," he proved himself more perceptive than Arthur had given him credit for.

Raising his head to find those painfully understanding eyes inches from his own, the despairing man was determined to make himself the villain.

"It's not fair on you," he commiserated.

"I do not want to have sex with someone who does not want to have sex with me," Francis' sombre tone showed his words were absolute but took on a lighter inflection as he questioned rhetorically, "What, you think I have somewhere else to get it if you say no?"

Arthur paused, not from doubt but for not knowing what else to say.

A heavy sigh deflated the taller man as he took this silence the wrong way. "Arthur, I do not want to fight you on issues that do not exist."

"I've never thought that of you," Arthur spoke up, "Call me conceited but I'm pretty sure you love me for more than just the sex."

Enclosing both of the smaller man's hands in his own, Francis looked up with pleading eyes. "Then what?" he waited for his answer.

Another quiet spell as Arthur composed his thoughts, chewing his lip and tasting the same iron tang as earlier.

"You don't deserve this. People have the right to expect certain things from a relationship and I haven't been…considerate of that. It's not fair," he appeared physically hurt by speaking about the taboo subject so seriously, something that Francis admittedly found quite precious.

The older man raised a hand to hold his face, wiping away the tiny bead of blood that sat on his lip to peck them fondly.

"This is not some contract you must uphold," a sadness tinged his gaze as he looked between his partner's distraught, forest eyes, "I cannot believe I even have to tell you that."

Unconvinced, Arthur moved his face from the hand that held it but found it trailed his movements, refusing to be parted.

"Fair has nothing to do with it. I want what you want," Francis implored of him, suppressing a sigh of frustration when Arthur stared blankly and nodded but said nothing. "One of these days I will get through to you," his resolve buckled, "Might I just say sorry and leave it at that?"

"Please, Francis, there's nothing for you to be sorry for, I don't want you to apologise to m-" Arthur refused to accept. He was sick of people being sorry for his indiscretions, of becoming a victim of his own making that others were hurt by whilst trying to save.

"Might I just say sorry," Francis repeated before he could finish, "and leave it at that?"

"It's okay," Arthur breathed, body going lax as it was embraced, held with one sided intimacy for a moment then released, the other brushing past him as he sat on the staircase.

Growing up, Arthur had never had many couples to look up to. His mother raised him alone, his father having vanished, and his grandparents died when he was an infant and so he didn't have much of an idea when it came to relationships in that sense, however, there was one piece of advice he had been given long ago that he had always tried to follow.

Never go to bed angry. He couldn't remember where he had heard this, but it resonated with him and never once had he fallen asleep in anger. Mostly because the sadness, the guilt and the regret set in as soon as he laid down his head, and with those to occupy his mind he couldn't sleep at all.

---

Translations

Très agréable – Very nice

Si jolie – How lovely

Espera un minute – Wait a minute

Mon doux garcon – My sweet boy

Que diable est la question – What the hell is the matter

Notes

Guess who spent three days editing this because they can't plan things in advance. That would be me. Thank you for reading, review, favourite and follow if you want to stay updated.