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.

12. Chapter 12

"So, what did you drag us all the way out here for?" Arthur spoke as they got out of the vehicle after a half hour of restless silence.

"I will tell you when you stop sulking," Francis jibed in response to his boyfriend's sour disposition.

Arms crossed pointedly, the younger man doubled down on his indignance. "I'm not sulking, I just don't appreciate being pressganged into some secret mission when I could have gone back to bed."

"Where you can hole yourself away for the rest of the day? I think not," Francis rebuffed bluntly and began to walk in a seemingly aimless direction.

Frowning as he strode to catch up, Arthur's irritable mood shifted to apprehension and he tried to catch his partner's eye as he implored, "Well, we're here now so just tell me whatever you're planning."

Lips twitching, the older man's smug expression loosened slightly as he relented.

"Alright, cherie, as you seem to distrust me so," he placated, "We are here to pick up a…an early Christmas present, we shall say."

Still that self-satisfied smirk adorned his face as the other waited for more.

"What is it then?" he demanded, receiving only a subtle quirk of a brow in response.

Narrowing his eyes at his opponent, Arthur huffed and looked away.

"Fine, don't tell me," he gave up trying, knowing his partner could be just as stubborn as he was at times, "but it had better not be anything extravagant, I don't want you wasting money on something I don't need."

"Oh, I am fairly certain you will find it a good investment," Francis sang teasingly, having anticipated his lover to be resistant and relishing in every minute of the torture he could squeeze from his advantage, "and besides, it is not just for you, this is something for both of us."

This peaked the younger man's interest and he glanced over but found no further explanation, only the same piss-take smile, and so lapsed into silence.

Following his partner's lead, they meandered slowly down streets lined with bare bushes, the first birdsong of the day sprinkling the air. Between the interlacing twigs, Arthur caught the occasional movement, a rustle somewhere within the web of wood exposing a brown wing or beady eye.

The avian choir grew fainter as the two of them turned into the main plaza, away from the residential streets and into the walkway between shops, most of their shutters still drawn. The area was one of those up market places, where everything is pristine and white and horrendously overpriced. It hadn't always been that way, of course, as Arthur could remember a time when people were discouraged from straying there at night, but things had changed.

Under some government scheme an exorbitant amount of money had been pumped into the town; gentrification, he believed they called it. Basically, the practice of pricing out the majority by shutting down all the shops in the area and replacing them with ones no average person could afford to shop at, thus making way for the one percent. Now the place stood revamped and upgraded, trees lining every avenue and a jewellery store on each corner.

He had used to fear such a thing would happen to where he grew up as, although not a terrible area it was rather run down, and they depended on it remaining that way. There was no other place nearby that a single mother on near minimum wage could afford a three-bedroom home, after all. Not that they managed particularly well in their situation as it was, that is, as Alice had left in the wake of her death a considerable amount of debt as well as three orphaned children.

As such thoughts came back to him, Arthur realised, with some sadness, the relative freedom he had gained out of losing pretty much everything. Financial stability was a novelty he was still getting used to and the possibility it allowed was something that brought him a guilty excitement to think about. The loss of the family homestead may have been out of his control and he had put up an honourable fight but, in a way, it felt wrong to feel as though he'd been relieved of a burden. It wasn't as though he had traded up or anything, as he was made obvious by the lavish homes they now walked past.

Three stories, red brick, ivy climbing the wall and a pathway leading to the painted door made of crosshatched tiles. Each one they passed similar with varying details, a rose bush here a stained-glass window there, but Arthur could see himself in any one of them. An entire street filled with his dream home, the kind of place he hoped to one day live. A day that may actually come, he considered. At this a spark was struck within his chest, lighting his dormant ambition, yet he restrained himself from going as far as to recognise this as a goal. He dared not be too optimistic.

Veering off from their path again, it seemed he was being taken on a wild goose chase. They moved away from the main roads, down a detour and then another to come out to a stretch of unmarked buildings beside a construction site. Sketchy to say the least. Posted up against the chain link fence that contained the potential building project was a sign advertising a new condo complex and for a moment Arthur worried this was what Francis intended to show him, however, he turned towards the doorway of one of the square, whitewashed buildings instead.

There was a button outside the door which Francis pressed, and a worn-out buzzing could be heard through the wall. No answer came from within for a while and Arthur opened his mouth to ask what was going on but was pre-emptively refuted.

"You will see," Francis assured as they continued to stand waiting.

Eyes switching between his partner and the door, the suspense began to get to Arthur. Uneasiness pooled in his stomach as he bit at his inner lip, scenarios playing out in his head of what this could be. Looking to the man beside him once more, his saw his thin brow furrow slightly and he reached out to press the bell again.

As he did so the tapping of footsteps could be heard from inside and the door swung open to reveal a man, tall and tanned, who addressed the older of the couple in a muted tone.

"Mr Bonnefoy?" he identified.

"Oui, good morning," said man greeted cheerily, ignoring the concerned look his other half shot him.

"Heracles," was all the other said by way of introduction, seemingly half asleep, "I'll show you down."

With this he turned his back on them and went inside, meaning for them to follow, which Francis did without question while Arthur lingered on the doorstep, peering through. Noticing his partner trailing behind, Francis cast a glance over his shoulder and beckoned with a nod of his head, to which Arthur complied.

Down a hallway with walls a cold shade of light blue, the shape of large, rectangular bricks showing through the layer of gloss paint, they came to a staircase, leading them to a subterranean level. As they descended the scent of disinfectant and acidic cleaning products grew stronger and brought back memories of hospital wards.

The sharp echo of shoes on the metal staircase was the only sound for a while until something else came into earshot, muffled somewhere below them. A drawn-out cry, more than one. Squinting, as though that may improve his hearing, Arthur tried to decipher what they were but the noise the three men made drowned them out.

The mystery was solved without too much build up, though, as they reached the bottom of the staircase and came to another hallway where Heracles opened one of the four doors and a shockwave of meows blasted through.

"You can start in here," he directed, "I'll open the other doors for you, just make sure you close them when you leave."

Surprise rendering him motionless, Arthur simply looked at the man, then through the opened door into the room filled with cages.

"You can take as long as you want," Heracles told them and went to unlock the other rooms.

"Merci," Francis chuckled with some amusement as he saw the expression on his lover's face and held out an arm to usher him through, "Shall we?"

Speechless, Arthur went in, his partner following suit. He didn't get much further than the threshold, however, as he stopped to take in what was happening.

Metal barred containers lined three of the walls, stacked on top of one another, and ran the length of the small room. On the fourth wall was a board full of charts and pictures of the cat that filled the numerous cages, information showing their ages, weights and medical needs. Arthur stood there as all around him the room itself purred and mewed, some cats coming up to the front of their cages to rub their faces against the bars while others recoiled into corners.

"You have probably worked out what we are here for by now," Francis satirised as he stood beside the other, beaming excitedly.

"Francis, we can't," Arthur turned his head to look at him with disquieted eyes.

Not having expected this answer, the older man frowned.

"Why not?" he asked, afraid the gesture had been miscalculated.

"You can't just get an animal on a whim like this," Arthur argued, shaking his head, "It's completely irresponsible."

"It is not on a whim, amour, you told me weeks ago that you would like this, and I have been thinking about it since then," Francis contradicted him.

"You didn't tell me that, though. And neither of us have ever had a cat before, we don't know how to take care of one. Plus, do we even have time for a cat? We both work full time," the younger man agonized, his tendency to fret getting the better of him.

"Arthur," his partner gently interrupted, "Do you still want a cat?"

Hesitating before he spoke, Arthur said slowly, "Well, yes, but-"

"But why not?" the more impulsive of the pair was determined, "They really are not difficult to take care of, I used to cat sit for my aunt all the time, and I will work from home for a while if you are so concerned."

About ready to give in to his own desires, Arthur still stalled his agreement, anxiety outweighing want.

"We can talk about it some more and come back another time if you are really that worried, but I am glad that you brought the subject up," the other mused, "I had also been thinking about getting a pet."

He paused to catch the eyes that watched him with green curiosity.

"The house has seemed a little too quiet lately," he finished his thought.

The last part of him won over by the shared sentiment, Arthur looked away, letting out a sigh before surveying the room.

"Did you have anything particular in mind?" he gave himself over to what would make him happy.

Mouth splitting into a grin, Francis took his lover's hand.

"We are here to choose together," he stated warmly, walking them further into the room.

His naturally uptight tendencies eased, room was made within Arthur for a new mood, one that tickled pleasantly. The sensation quickly filled him, his fingertips tingling and his lips tilting upward. Pure, unadulterated joy took control of his body, lightening it, the strain and weight of the morning lifting.

The hand his fingers laced through released him and Francis bent down, squatting to look into a large cage on the bottom row where seven or eight tiny balls of fuzz scuttled about. Some of them trotted inquisitively up to meet the man that cooed in at them, impossibly small paws poking between the bars.

Leaving his partner to gush over the kittens under the watchful, yellow eyes of their mother, Arthur wandered in a circuitous route. The room they were in seemed to be dedicated mostly to younger animals, many of the containers large enough to fit a whole family. Some were occupied by only a trio or couple of tiny bodies and most of them were pinned with notes stating 'must be taken in pairs' in all capitals.

While his heart did utterly melt at the sound of their cries, he wasn't sold on the idea of raising a kitten. It was too much for a pair of first-time pet owners and he'd much rather have something more relaxed. Besides the practical reasoning for it, he would have preferred an older cat for the animal's sake. He knew most people came in looking for a kitten, something their children or their girlfriend would find cute, and that the older cats up for adoption often went overlooked.

"Shall we look around some more?" he suggested, nodding in the direction of the room across the hall.

"But they are so small," Francis crooned.

"Well, they do get bigger, you know," Arthur pointed out as his partner stood and they both went through to the next room.

A depressing sight to come across, as the room seemed to be populated by the sick and the aged. Every cage had some sort of a chart next to it with a multitude of prescriptions listed and not a sound came from inside. The milky, blind eyes of an old ginger tom with one of his ears half gnawed off turned to look at them as they entered, the expression of his gnarled mouth seeming to tell them of some bad omen, urging them to turn back.

"Bénisse les pauvres creatures," Francis uttered under his breath, "Let us leave them in peace."

He turned and headed towards another of the doors while Arthur stayed behind, pity restraining him. The tom cat remained a saggy sack of bones and mangey flesh in its basket, unreactive as Arthur approached, neither moving nor making a sound, simply accepting of whatever may happen to it. Looking back through the crosshatching, the cat blinked slowly, its eyes opening again to only a sliver as it seemed thoroughly disinterested in the world.

"Arthur," Francis called from the next room, to which Arthur only let out a sympathetic exhale, damning his sense of empathy as he went to join him.

Entering onto a far livelier scene, the older man instantly drew his attention to the cage he stood in front of.

"How about her?" he gestured to what must have been the fluffiest cat Arthur had ever seen, pure, white fur like a cloud with eyes and legs.

"Seems a little high maintenance, doesn't she?" he mentioned unsurely, "Imagine the mess."

"But she is so beautiful," Francis praised, the animal making a shrill trilling sound as though in response to the compliment.

"Francis, please, let's be sensible about this," Arthur insisted, knowing his partner's affinity for pretty things often got in the way of a wise decision.

A sound of vocalised acceptance came from the other. "You are right, I suppose," he considered and continued perusing.

The specimens they currently looked at seemed significantly healthier and much more sociable as Arthur browsed, coming to a cage where a small tabby rubbed its face up and down the grate, purring. A smile lighting his face at the sound, he arched a finger through the bars to scratch it on the scruff of the neck, the rumbling from its chest growing louder. A soft laugh blew from his nose as the cat continued its antics, flopping onto its side and stretching the whole of its body as though it were made of rubber.

Not wanting to get attached the first cat he saw though, Arthur scanned the rest of the room, animals of every shape and size surrounding him. A chunky, shorthaired tortious shell moggy, a black and white male with markings like a cow, a black cat that sat still as a statue, face angular, fur sleek like oil. He was spoiled for choice and felt a little bad that he was to choose out a life to own, resolving he wouldn't base his pick simply on aesthetics.

The older of the couple was distracted at the other end of the room as Arthur looped back to the doorway. He paused to wait for his partner, standing beside a cage that at first appeared empty, but proved otherwise when the slightest hint of movement registered in the corner of his vision. Crouching to get a clearer view of the dark corner from which he had detected it, he saw the outline of a furry shadow huddled amongst a pile of blankets. As quietly as he could, he waited, nose practically pressed up against the bars as he tried to catch a glimpse, intrigued by the only animal in the room that seemed to actively avoid attention while others yowled behind him.

It remained in hiding, but Arthur was patient, and after a minute or so of their standoff the smaller of the two lost its nerve. With a baying snarl it emerged, slinking on its stomach in a stealthy prowl and stopped once out in the open, calculating its next move. Its green eyes were opened so wide they almost protruded from its round face, pupils contracted into slits as they saw the intruder knelt beside its cage.

Realising his presence must have been rather intimidating to the creature that was a tenth of his size, Arthur shuffled back and was encouraged to see the cat's frightened stance relax slightly. It was smaller than the average house cat, white with patches of burnt ginger colouring and had the most unusual ears that folded down over themselves, like the ears on a Labrador. Fluffy tail still flicking irately, Arthur went for a closer look, kissing at the animal as he reached out a hand. At first the cat retracted but seemed to asses the situation and reached its neck forward to sniff at what it was offered, apparently taking this as a gesture of good will as it took a few cautious steps forward then sat.

Mirroring the animal, Arthur eased onto the floor and looked in on his new-found companion as it did the same. He could decipher no particular emotion from its feline features but felt that, perhaps, he was being judged in some way. It studied him, looked him directly in the eye in a way that he felt had to mean something and he knew he wouldn't be able to leave without it.

"What have you found?" Francis enquired, coming over to see what interested his partner so intensely.

He bent at the waist with his hands on his knees to see, reacting with the same fascination as the other.

"What unique ears," he admired, however, the feeling wasn't mutual as the cat immediately growled, its hackles rising.

Yet Arthur wasn't perturbed by the display of aggression. "I like this one," he murmured.

"Are you sure?" Francis frowned, understandably put off by the fact that it seemed to hate him.

Eyes still focused on the ones that almost matched his own, Arthur shrugged.

"We can look around some more if you want, it's not just my choice," he compromised, unwilling to admit his heart was thoroughly set.

Glancing from the animal in question to his lover's face, though, Francis recognised the expression there. One he could remember seeing in the depths of the poverty they had endured when passing by grand houses and posh restaurants and car show rooms. A face that expressed immediately repressed desires.

"Non, I like him too," he indulged the other's fancies, "he just needs a little love, I am sure."

Allowing himself an unbridled smile, Arthur looked up at his partner whose chest swelled at the sight.

He stayed put as Francis went to fetch the shelter's attendant and both returned before long, Heracles carrying a pet crate with him.

"You might want to stand back, she can be troublesome," he warned, flipping the latch to open the cage.

A struggle ensued, some hissing and swiping, but after a valiant fight the cat made it into the carrier.

"Was she a stray?" Francis gleaned from the creature's contempt for humans.

Heracles stood, somehow unscathed, and handed the carrier over to him. "No, she used to belong to an old lady who died, the family brought her here."

"Really?" Francis thought it odd that such an unruly animal had been a pet, as did Arthur.

"Some people she likes but most, not so much," Heracles was unable to explain, "We just need to fill in the paperwork and you can take her."

The three of them made it half way up the stairs before Francis was forced to stop and hand off the screaming box to his partner, the cat inside calming down only marginally when he took it. Giving a generous donation, as that was all that funded the place, the couple signed their names and left the building with a new family member. It was odd to think that a person could simply acquire a life like that, but Arthur was surprisingly unfazed by the responsibility. In fact, it seemed minor in comparison to most other things in his life. Caring for small, helpless things was rather his forte at that point.

"A Scottish Fold," Francis announced in the cab on their way home.

"What" Arthur looked up from the crate at the random statement.

"She is a Scottish Fold, that is her breed," Francis filled in whilst looking at his phone.

"Oh, right," the other nodded, only half listening.

"It is a breed of domestic cat with a natural dominant gene mutation that affects cartilage throughout the body, causing the ears to fold," he recited from the article he had found.

"Natural," Arthur scoffed, "After several decades of inbreeding, no doubt."

Tutting, Francis insisted on looking on the bright side. "Well, she seems healthy, which is the important thing."

"Of course," the more pessimistic of the pair replied as he looked in through the grate at the front of the crate, poking a finger through while their newly adopted pet cowered at the back of it.

She meowed loudly the entire way, a droning sound like an air siren, one that conveyed confusion and fear and made a person wish they could explain. They apologised profusely to the driver as they got out and went inside where Arthur took the carrier into the living room and set it down on the carpet.

"Welcome to your new home," Francis celebrated, prompting eagerly "Go on, let her out."

"Okay, just give her some space," a prickling in his chest, Arthur undid the door and moved backwards, both men waiting with bated breath for some sort of motion.

A few moments passed in which the cat showed no sign of shifting, still huddled in the far corner of her confines as though she sensed a trap, then a few more still until ten minutes of silence had passed.

"Do you think we should do something?" Francis grew impatient, "We could put some food down."

Thinking this may only cause her to believe she were being lured into an ambush even further, Arthur turned down the idea.

"She probably just needs some time."

The conversation ended there as both went back to watching quietly, their focused eyes surely not helping the situation, until a nose emerged. It sniffed the carpet, a foreign smell that caused it to draw back briefly before regaining courage and sticking out the rest of its bi-coloured face to scour the landscape. One white paw appeared, testing the ground then planting itself firmly, then another, and then she was gone, having leapt across the room in one swift bound to slither under the sofa.

"At least she is out," Francis joked dejectedly.

Exhaling some of the disappointment he felt stupid for feeling, Arthur knew he should have expected no less. It was his own fault for choosing the most feral cat in the entire shelter, God only knew why he insisted on taking the hardest rout for everything.

He hunched over on the floor, tilting his head sideways to squint under the furniture. Pressed up against the wall, as far out of reach as she could possibly be, she made herself as small as she could in hopes of avoiding detection, eyes reflecting the light, making her look wild.

"Poor thing," he empathised.

"Like you said, maybe some more time is needed," the older man did the same and received a violent hiss for his efforts.

Both men drew back and left the animal in peace, heading to the kitchen where Arthur's attention was drawn to the clock displaying it was still morning. His body disagreed with this after having been awake for a solid thirty hours at least and the stress of it was beginning to take a physical toll. Muscles aching, head swimming, pins and needles, nothing he wasn't used to.

"What's the time difference between here and Ohio again?" he thought aloud, failing at the simple maths required to work it out by himself.

"About five hours, I think," Francis recalled.

Nodding, Arthur struggled to figure out what time that would make his brother's landing and statistics of when he should contact him, his brain putting up a wall against such strenuous work.

The trouble he was having must have shown clearly on his face as Francis spoke in reply to what he was thinking.

"He said he would call when he landed, which should not be for another six hours or so, so please, stop making that face like your head is going to explode," he softly reprimanded.

Arthur caught his eye briefly then averted his own, directing them down at his hands on the table, picking at the skin around what was left of his nails. Clearing his throat, he changed the subject.

"I don't suppose you thought about any of this in advance, then. I mean, do we have anything for her to eat?" he underestimated his partner's abilities and was promptly proven wrong.

Expelling a short laugh, Francis went over to one of the cupboards under the sink. "You think so little of me, mon cher," he opened it to reveal several cans of cat food and a bag of pebbly looking stuff that could easily last the tiny creature several months.

"When did you plan all this?" Arthur was taken aback by the planning that must have been going on right under his nose and wondered how he had missed it.

"I decided on it about three weeks ago," Francis' lips quirked subtly, showing he was quite proud of his scheming, "I knew you would not look there."

It did seem he had thought it through, but Arthur noticed the one thing he had failed to consider.

"Did you get a litter tray?" he questioned.

"I thought she would just do it outside," the other assumed.

"If we let her out, I don't think we'll be seeing her again," Arthur sarcastically mentioned.

"You may have a point," Francis agreed, going out to the hall, "Alright, I will go and get one, you can stay here and see if you can get her out."

"Sure," Arthur doubted his ability to do so.

"And come up with a name, maybe," the older man drew attention to the fact that they hadn't even considered naming the animal yet.

"I really don't know, Francis, I haven't thought about it," Arthur refused the responsibility, following his partner into the hall.

"Well, do," Francis shrugged on his coat and opened the door, "See what you can come up with, there is no hurry. I will not be long."

With that the door closed behind him and Arthur was left with their unnamed occupant. Remaining in place a little while longer, needing to process everything that had happened to him before midday, he turned to go back to the living room.

He turned on the TV for background noise and stopped beside the sofa, under which a body shifted. Afraid that doing anything to try to coax or drive her out would only result in a worse situation, Arthur felt it best to leave her as she was, allow her to become acclimatised to her surroundings and do as she pleased.

He went back across the hall to the kitchen to rifled through the cupboards, finding a small, chipped bowl and a plate with the floral pattern half worn off that he set down close the doorway with food and water on offer. Hoping the smell of it might entice the cat from her hiding place, he was a little let down but not surprised to see not hind no hair of her. At least it was there for her when she needed it, he thought, and she could sneak out when they had both gone to bed. Perhaps a stepping stone for trust.

Drifting back through the hall once more, collecting the post that must have been sat there for several days by that point on his way, he set himself softly down on the sofa, mindful of what lurked beneath him. A couple of bank statements and one handwritten envelope amongst the pile, he started off with the most boring, skimming over the various payments and accounts, and discarded them to his side before moving on to the more interesting delivery.

The household usually only received two posted cards around that time of year, one from Arthur's cousins and one from Francis' parents, both of which were already perched up on the mantle and so the unidentified card caused trepidation, especially since Arthur didn't recognise the return address. Running through his mind for someone he may have forgotten as he tore open the flap, he came up blank and pulled the card out to quickly glance over the Christmassy scene printed on the front before looking inside.

Instantly wishing he hadn't, his forehead creased and his eyes widened in suspicious perplexity. Aside from the pre-written message of seasons greetings, all that was inside was a phone number and three words put down in unfamiliar block letters. 'Call me, Alistair.' The sentence seemed to shift the mood of the entire day. No longer was Arthur concerned about when Alfred would call or what to call his pet, all that consumed his thoughts was what the hell could the man he hadn't spoken to in more than four years want.

Seeing as they had only one thing in common, that being their unfortunate parentage, he predicted that most likely had something to do with it. That was the only reason he ever barged his way into his life and so it was fair to assume as much. A harsh expulsion of air left his nose as he closed the card, directing his gaze aside, offended by the existence of a person he barely knew, then looked back at the command.

He didn't know how the very idea of a person could irritate him, but the thought of his half-brother made something in him boil. Perhaps it was the fact that he was a rude reminder that Arthur hadn't sprung into existence out of immaculate conception, as he liked to believe. The fact that there was another side to his lineage, one that he did not care for or that seemed to care too much for him, not that that was a bad thing. It disturbed him, in a way. He liked to think himself a family-oriented person, yet Alistair was technically family and he felt nothing but contempt for him. The same went for the cause of their relation, his father, although he refused to think about him under such a title.

Unable to think about the situation with any clarity, an uneasy tightness constricted Arthur's mind, squeezing it, and he tossed the card onto the coffee table. Drawing his legs up onto the sofa, he curled in on himself, shifting back into the corner of the cushions as though trying to hide amongst them, hide from the decision he was being forced to make. He picked at the dry skin on his lips as he stared at it, no explicit thoughts crossing his mind but the hazy consideration of what to do looming in the back of his head where it stuck fast.

Adjusting his body again, Arthur rested his head against the armrest, watching whatever the TV played without taking it in, the obstinate problem he had just come across proving unshakable. He sighed, a miserable sound this time, one bereft of the energy it took to care about the world and hugged one of the decorative pillows against himself. Face squished against the rough fabric of the tattered couch, he let his eyes slip closed, meaning only to dispel the dryness of them but found it a chore to open them again.

Half cracked, he peered through the parting of his eyelids, disinterested. The highs and lows of the day seemed utterly unpredictable and he simply didn't posses the motivation to deal with them. Any anticipation over speaking to Alfred later on or dread of the other phone call he had not yet decided he would make, any feeling he had towards the tiny body that resided underneath where he lay was too much effort. Curling tighter into a ball, he let sleep take hold.

It was growing dark when he woke, the house still empty, and he checked the time on his phone. A message notification caused a flicker of joy that was swiftly quashed when he saw the name attached to it, showing it was his partner rather than the younger man he hoped to hear from. Going by the time, Alfred should have been landing soon, maybe had already and was too busy to call just yet. Either way, the wait continued.

Opening the message, he learned the reason Francis still hadn't returned. Apparently, he had run into Feliks and the pair had gone to coffee together, the reassurance of this being a quick detour a short-sighted claim. He was about to send a reply but felt it would be somewhat redundant seeing as he had received it several hours ago and so turned off the screen and continued to lay in his splayed position. One arm tucked under his head as a pillow, the other still held the embellished cushion and he ran a fingertip over the embroidered pattern.

The olive green on brown suede material was about as far from his taste in décor as a person could get but they hadn't been his choice. One of Francis' attempts to make the dreary house more characterful. A gesture that went unappreciated as Arthur made clear how ghastly he found them. That being said, he did enjoy the texture, it was pleasant to run his palms over. A loose strand hung from the stitching along the seam and he tugged at it, more coming undone. Twisting it around his hand he snapped it off to prevent more from unwinding itself and dropped the thread to the floor.

A flash of white darted from the shadows beneath the sofa, Arthur's eyes snapping to it on instinct. Claws sunk into the string, the vicious paw clenched around its inanimate prey and a muzzle of bared teeth clamped its jaws on for the decisive blow. However, the frayed fibres were a poor substitute for a hunk of meat, and she released her hold again, shaking her head and licking her whiskered cheeks. At the sound of Arthur's subdued chuckle, her head turned sharply. Her skittishness having been forgotten in her predatory focus she now remembered she was the vulnerable one and quickly scampered back to safety, leaving the string where it lay.

Arthur waited a moment, seeing whether she might emerge again and when she didn't, leant down to reclaim the piece of thread. Drawing himself up in a ball so as his presence wasn't obvious enough to frighten her away again, he dangled the string over the edge of the sofa, the end of it just grazing the carpet, and waggled it up and down. The silken thread danced in the dim light, its movement like a mouse's tail, and sure enough was tempting enough that a set of snowy paws pounced, pinning it down.

Stifling the grin that itched to stretch over his face, Arthur stopped moving his hand, the string going still as the cat bit at it and waited for her to lose some interest before pulling it from her grasp. As he had hoped, she chased after it immediately, intent on killing the thing, fully exposed with claws extended and dedicated the hunt. He dragged the string along the ground for her to stalk then whipped it away as soon as she struck, held it aloft so that she leapt, spun it in circles which she comically ran in until too muddled to continue.

Enjoying their game as much as she seemed to, the larger of the two creatures eventually let her win, thinking it cruel to toy with her much longer. Delightedly claiming her reward as he released the other end of the string, she covered it with her body, as he had seen lions do on documentaries, and began shredding it with her teeth. Hunched over her prize faced away from him, Arthur saw an opportunity, one he questioned whether it was wise to take but did so, reaching out a hand to gently, barely stroke a knuckle over the carrot coloured fur on her back.

He felt her immediately stiffen, yet she didn't flee or withdraw from his touch. Repeating the action, she remained, allowing him to do so again until he felt her relax a little. With his roughened fingertips, Arthur scratched the same spot, warmth filling him as the small body began to vibrate, the crackling sound of a long unused purr like honey in the air.

Oval face turning to meet his elated smile, Arthur took the chance of this new-found trust to reach over and pet her behind one of her creased ears. Pushing her head into the affection, the sound of satisfaction that echoed from her chest increased and Arthur gladly obliged to the hint, cupping a hand over her head to stroke her the length of her back. Although he didn't want to push the boundaries of their developing friendship, the need to squeeze the darling creature was too much to bare and he went to try and pick her up.

The arrival of his other half, however, cut through the moment. Her brightly virid eyes snapped to the door and she disappeared once again.

"Sorry that took so long, but you know what Feliks is like," Francis griped good naturedly as he hung up his coat and appeared in the doorway, "I love the man but, mon dieu, how he gossips."

"Hm," was all Arthur replied with, looking sadly at the place his new friend had been.

"She has not come out yet?" the other posed.

He took the plastic litter tray he had bought into the kitchen and set it down next to where Arthur had set out the two bowls, filling it with a grey, sandy looking substance.

"Actually, she let me pet her," Arthur countered, following him.

Francis' face showed he hadn't expected as much and he questioned, "Really?"

Arthur nodded.

"You have always had a way with animals," he commended, "What about a name? Any thoughts?"

Folding his arms and leaning against the wall, realising that sleep hadn't helped the lethargy he had felt earlier, the smaller man was still at a lost.

"I have no idea," he groaned, "You know, I don't think cats even recognise their own names."

"Well we cannot call her 'Cat'," Francis objected, going to the front room to try and catch a glimpse of the illusive animal, "That will not do for our little princess."

Reminded of a fact he had learned years ago, Arthur had a thought.

"How about Queenie," he put forward.

"Queenie?" Francis repeated, testing how the name felt to say.

"A female cat is called a queen," Arthur explained, finding that somehow it seemed to fit, the look on his partner's features hinting at the same.

"I like it," the other approved with a smile and addressed the sofa, "What do you think of that, ah? Would you like that name?"

Amused by his lover's jesting, Arthur looked fondly upon him.

"I'm glad you surprised me," he thanked in his own way, the other clearly pleased by this as he sent the same look back.

His expression morphed slightly, though, into one of inquisitivity.

"Who is this from?" he noticed the card laying flat on the table and picked it up.

Arthur had no need to answer him and simply watched as he opened the card, his brow folding in on itself.

"Oh," he vocalised his mixed feelings, "What does he need from you?"

"I don't know any more than you do," Arthur shrugged.

"You have not called him yet?" Francis looked over to his other half, noticing the way his arms were folded tightly and his shoulders hunched, who shook his head. "Why do you look so suspicious about it, perhaps it is something good."

"Yeah, maybe the old bastard has finally died," the other sneered, referring to his paternal parent.

"Do not be wicked, you do not mean that," Francis was scornful of his callousness but knew to anticipate as much as the topic managed to bring out a defensiveness in Arthur. "He could be getting married, or something," he enthused a brighter possibility.

"Sure," Arthur balked at the thought, "or maybe he's being crowned Prince of Wales."

Lips pressed into an unimpressed line, Francis reacted calmly.

"You have not spoken to him in years, you do not know what is going on in his life," he made a logical argument but saw the other wasn't listening, "You will not know unless you call him."

Lifting his shoulders to drop them heavily again, Arthur was resistant, half not wanting to know what caused this unprecedented contact, half not caring.

"I might. I don't really want to think about it right now," he urged to change the subject.

Francis's eyes showed he was thinking but whatever he was about to say was interrupted by the buzzing of Arthur's phone. Pulling it from his pocket, his heart jumped.

"It's Alfred," he exclaimed a little louder than he had meant to.

Both men hurriedly forgot what they had been talking about and sat close together on the sofa. Tapping the cracked screen, the younger man's face popped up, his toothy grin a beam of radiating, white light.

"Howdy from the states, y'all!" he burst out in an accentuated southern drawl.

"It is so good to see your face, mon cherie! How are you? How was the flight? You must be exhausted," Francis wittered, getting carried away as he as one to do.

"I'm fine, it all went fine. I slept on the plane so I'm feeling pretty great," Alfred's voice bubbled, "What about you guys? Miss me yet?"

"Where are you right now?" Arthur glazed over the question to ask one himself, noting the background seemed not to be either an airport or a school.

"Oh, we're hanging out at the bus station. Still waiting on some other people to arrive and then they're going to take us to the campus," the other went through.

"We?" Francis reiterated the use of the plural term and jokingly remarked, "You have made friends already?"

Glancing behind himself then back to the screen, Alfred chuckled. "Yeah, I'm just chilling with the other guys that are here for try-outs, they all seem cool." His social skills never failed to amaze.

"You shouldn't make friends with the enemy," Arthur teased, "They are your competition, you know."

Laughing at his brother's exaggeration, Alfred was unconcerned. "It's just sports," he downplayed.

"I do hope you're going to take this seriously, though, and that you won't be going to parties the night before a training day or skipping out to go sightseeing, or anything," Arthur harnessed the power of his most parental tone to lecture.

Eyes rolling in his head, the younger sibling didn't need to be told.

"I'll have plenty of time for that when I get the spot," he cockily guaranteed.

"I like the confidence," Francis motivated.

"Hey, Francis," Alfred addressed the older man directly, raising an eyebrow, "Did you do the thing?"

Taking the phone from his partner, Francis directed the camera under the sofa for Alfred to see 'the thing' in question.

"There she is," he smiled, the other awing down the line.

"Wait, you knew he was planning this?" Arthur realised, taking his phone back to scowl at his brother.

"He told me he was thinking about it a couple of weeks ago," he confirmed, "I tried to convince him a dog would be more fun, but he wouldn't listen."

"How am I always the last to know things," the older Kirkland complained.

"Because it would be no fun if you knew," Francis stated sweetly, pecking his lover's cheek.

Over the phone, the sound of a loud speaker announcement resounded, and Alfred listened in.

"Sorry, guys, I got to go, sounds like we're leaving," he cut their conversation short.

"That's alright, text us when you're on campus, okay?" Arthur pressed, "And call your brother when you can."

"Sure, okay, I have to go, we can talk tomorrow," Alfred began walking, glancing between his phone and something else distractedly.

"Have a good night's rest," Francis bid him, "Tell us everything tomorrow."

The screen exited their chat as Alfred hung up. Hollowness left by his absence was tangible in the air of the room, and the knowledge that he would return soon did little to help in the moment.

"I will get started on dinner," the older man announced after a while and went through to the kitchen.

Left alone, Arthur tried again to draw Queenie from her lair, succeeding momentarily until Francis inadvertently ruined it again. They spent the evening trying to achieve what Arthur had managed alone earlier with Francis but had little success. The closest they came was to lure her as far as the coffee table while Francis stood out in the hallway, a step in the right direction but the smallest step imaginable. Admitting defeat, the pair went to bed, the length of the day having caught up to them.

Had Arthur been able to shut down his internal organs at will he would have done at the thought of working the next day and he actually set his alarm a half hour later than he normally would have, something he thanked his past self for when he woke to the offensive noise. Marginally less dead than he might have been without the extra thirty minutes rest, he got up and readied himself. His actions weren't deliberately slow, but he made no effort to rush, no longer caring that his day was starting later and later, wilfully throwing away his mornings. He had never liked them in the first place.

Checking the bowl on the kitchen floor, he saw that the food had been touched and when he poked his head cautiously around the living room door, he was happy to find Queenie had migrated from under the couch to on top of it. Her delicate chest rose and fell evenly, showing she was still asleep, and Arthur left her that way, exiting into the drizzly morning.

People no longer whispered about him when he turned up to work late, his antics not as entertaining as they used to be, or perhaps they had found some new scandal to sink their fangs into. Either way, he made his way to his desk undisturbed and began flipping through the new files that had been dropped off while his computer booted up.

The home screen it displayed was a distraction. Joy filled faces of almost a decade past ate at him, the background of a pebbled shoreline so vivid in his memory he could still smell it. Had he licked his lips he was sure he'd have tasted the salt of the white peaked waves he saw so clearly in his mind's eye. The briny flavour turned bitter, however, when the thought of that man broke into his thoughts the same way he had done during the summer of the picture's taking, as he had done the day before.

That was the year he and his mother had learned of his half-brother's existence. Nineteen at the time, although he had looked far older, a backpack slung over his shoulder and an address in his hands, he had turned up at their door in search of the father they shared. Arthur still wasn't sure how or why he had come looking for them but his mother, ever the charitable soul, had of course welcomed him into their lives. He had ended up staying a little more than a month, looking around the local area for the man that was nowhere within a ten-mile radius, then vanished back to Glasgow.

While Arthur hadn't gotten on with him, his feelings never having softened, his mother had taken pity on the boy. He had expressed that his home life wasn't exactly ideal and that had been enough for her to pledge herself to him as a source of support, as she did for every cause that stirred the slightest feeling in her. The memory of it flared in Arthur, a burning sensation in his rib cage. Resentment.

Clicking the screen to rid it of the picture, he rejected the emotion, unable to affiliate any negative emotion with the sainted woman. Guilty over even the idea of the thought of it, he ran a hand through his hair and exhaled. Nothing good ever came from contact with Alistair, he knew this from experience. Despite his problems with the unruly man, Alfred and Matthew quite liked him, looked up to him in the way that children do to extravagant strangers, and Francis played peacemaker, always wanting everyone to get along.

Aggravation was all Arthur ever seemed to receive for his efforts, though, and Alistair always left on a sour note. Francis' argument of things being better as they were both older was less effective each time, and he wondered why he allowed himself to be convinced when he knew how it would end. He thought that, at least, but he knew why.

His mother had loved the man, for reasons he could not fathom, and out of some unspoken promise this meant he was duty-bound to her wishes. In the same way that he had to donate to the church funds each year and felt compelled to put a few coins in every charity box he passed at Christmas time, he would call Alistair. He had to. It was just working up the motivation to do so, and to deal with the fallout that would follow, that he needed.

Another deep breath passed through his system as he stared down at his desktop. Whether it was good or bad news he was to receive, he doubted it would have a massive effect on his life and the moderate comfort of apathy eased his mind. Casting his eyes over the papers he had been left, he remained preoccupied, half of his brain still brooding over the various troubles that haunted his waking life.

He began to sign off on things: promotions, transfers, budgets. Occasionally glancing up at his screen, he saw his backlog of emails had stopped increasing in tens by the day, probably because he had started doing what they asked of him, and a mild sense of relief settled in him at the small victory. The pleasant feeling soon turned to ice, though, when he looked over to see a new message come up from one Ludwig Beilschmidt asking him to stop by his office when he had the time.

The words sounding like the last rights of a dead man walking as he read them in his head, his innards sank. However, he wasn't resistant of his fate, it was inevitable after all. He had been working on borrowed time from the moment he started at the company. In all honesty he had no idea how he had been hired in the first place. No qualifications, no experience working in an office, barely a passing grade in most of his exams, they must have taken him out of desperation alone. In fact, he was pretty sure that Ludwig, who had gone straight from business college to working there, must have convinced someone to take him on out of pity. So really, it seemed fair he should be the one to fire him.

Supposing there was no point in delaying what had been a long time coming any further, Arthur stood, more than ready to face the consequences of his actions.

The office was empty by comparison to the Friday passed, fingers quietly tapping at keyboards, hallways vacant of life as he made his way to the lifts. Ludwig's office was a couple of floors above Arthur's as he was several positions higher, apparently the CEO had never learned that metaphors were meant to be subtle, yet the subordinate man found he didn't feel uncomfortable wandering through foreign, open waters.

As opposed to the lower levels, which had an open floor plan and only a few private rooms for the unit overseers, the elevator doors opened onto a waiting area, some itchy looking chairs and a small table set out in the corner, beyond which was a wide hallway lined with doors. He may not have known the upper levels well, but Arthur knew the door number he was looking for and so progressed down the well-lit corridor, a certain confidence to his strides, to the bronze plaque with the corresponding digits.

Knocking, he received an immediate response.

"Come in," the harsh tone sounded from inside and Arthur obliged, seemingly to the rooms occupant's surprise. "Ah, good morning, Arthur. You saw my message then. I wasn't expecting you so soon."

"I had nothing else urgent to do, I thought I wouldn't keep you waiting. I can come back later if you'd prefer," the older man offered.

Shuffling the papers on his desk into a neat pile, Ludwig shook his head.

"Now is convenient. Please, sit down," he beckoned.

Arthur did so, self-assuredness born of indifference nullifying any anxiety he should have felt.

"So, I will be blunt with you," the younger man prefaced as though he was ever anything but, "your performance over the last few months has not been good."

Bobbing his head, doing his best to look like he cared, Arthur hummed.

"However, more recently there has been an impressive spike in your productivity," Ludwig continued, "Which has produced some of the best figures your department has seen in several years. As a result, I have decided you are the best candidate to put forward for the department manager position."

"I'm sorry, what?" Arthur blinked, baffled by the turn of events.

"After last weeks meetings, the head office has asked for a change. There will be a lot of movement in the coming months but I would like to keep you working with your division for now and I think you have shown the ability to be a strong leader," the other watched him, face deadpanned, his hands folded before him, "The pay rise isn't notable, I'll admit, but it is a promotion. Do you accept?"

"No," the word came out a perplexed laugh as Arthur frowned. Upon regaining himself from the slip, however, he looked to the steely blue eyes across from him, finding no humour there. "Wait, you mean that?" he checked disbelievingly.

"I am very serious, Arthur," Ludwig asserted, "You have been here for four years, now, that makes you senior to most of the people you currently work with. Like I said, the pay doesn't offer much but the position holds more authority and therefore more credit."

And more hours, more late nights, more weekends, more stress, Arthur mentally added to the list.

"I'm sorry, I…I really don't think I can take it," he shook his head, an odd smile adorning his face, one of amused bewilderment.

Just as puzzled, Ludwig echoed what the other had said a few moments before.

"Are you sure you want to turn this down? I have other applicants in mind, but you were my first choice," his persona of office superior slipped just slightly for the briefest second in a way that made him seem like someone trying to do a friend a favour. It made Arthur feel bad.

"I appreciate that, really I do, I just don't think that I could live up to the expectations of the role right now," he covered, sending an apologetic look across the desk, "I'm sorry, really. Thank you for considering me."

A pause then Ludwig nodded once, lips tightening into a line as he considered what was said.

"There's no need to apologise, I understand," the diplomatic man accepted.

Sensing the moment to leave, Arthur stood with a similarly awkward expression and tucked his chair under the desktop.

"You know, if you're looking for people to be promoted, perhaps you should consider Erika," he recommended as he made his way over to the door, "Have a nice day."

He let himself out and walked back to the lift in a daze, turning his subverted expectations over in his head. Stepping inside the box, his forehead furrowed while his lips turned up at the corners. A snorted breath came from his nose and he raised a hand to his mouth to supress his laughter, but another forced its way through as he snickered to himself. He wasn't sure why he found it as funny as he did but the fact that doing what he was meant to warranted him a promotion was just ridiculous to him. Had he not seen the comedic value in the situation he may even have been disappointed he hadn't been fired.

Back on his own level he quashed the bubbling amusement, lips twitching as they fought to release it as he sped back to his office, but he managed to contain it until behind his closed door where he allowed it to spill free. Laughing at his desk as he sifted through emails, his lifted spirits stayed that way through the rest of the day, remaining with him on his commute home and still tickling his insides as he opened the front door.

"Bonsoir, amour, I am in here," Francis acknowledged his entrance from the kitchen.

Arthur followed his voice and went in to find him sat set up with his work equipment at the table. He had agreed to stay home and watch their new resident for the week.

"How was she today?" he stood behind his partner to see what he was working on, a woman in white on a flowery background smiling at him from the screen.

"Well, she has not hissed at me since about one o'clock and she came in to eat a few times," Francis turned in his seat to speak to his other half, "So that is good, would you not say?"

"It's an improvement," Arthur nodded.

Still looking at the picture on the laptop, Arthur didn't notice he was being watched with questioning eyes.

"What are you smiling about?" Francis questioned the subtle upturn of the other's mouth, beginning to mirror the expression himself.

Not having realised he was smiling, Arthur caught a glimpse of himself in the reflective screen and saw what this other half referred to, that inexplicable tingle flaring.

"I was offered a promotion today," he told him.

Face brightening, second hand excitement caused Francis to prematurely congratulate him.

"Oh, Arthur that is wonderful," he applauded.

"I didn't take it," he put bluntly.

Confusion registered on the others features and he cocked his head. "Why not?"

"I really didn't want it," his voice lilted with levity.

"Why is that funny?" Francis didn't understand the joke, however, neither did Arthur.

"I don't know," his laughter came out in full.

Pausing a moment, at a loss of what was going on, Francis couldn't help but join in.

"I suppose that makes sense," he raised an eyebrow as their fit died down, "If you are sure you did not want it."

"I just couldn't entertain the idea of it," Arthur postulated, "I don't know why."

"Because you despise your job?" Francis sardonically drawled.

"Could be," the other jested in return, "Have you heard from Alfred yet?"

Guilt twisted the older man's lips. "He called earlier. I told him to wait until you were home, but he is busy."

A little put out by this, Arthur shook his head. "It's fine, he's been texting me," he pardoned the exclusion, "I'll speak to him tomorrow."

"Ah, yes, and Mattieu will be coming over as well," Francis informed.

Pleased by this, the other hummed shortly then left his partner to get on with his work.

Curled up in much the same position she had been as he had left that morning, Queenie raised her head from where it lay rested on her forelegs as he entered, her pear green eyes alert like she expected him to be the man she had not yet come to trust. Upon seeing it was the other human, though, she settled back down, eyelids closing as she allowed the man she deemed trustworthy to sit beside her.

Scratching her atop her head with his bitten nails, his other hand held open a book he used to pass the time, his attention kept on the page until the head he petted bumped gently into his thigh. Arthur glanced down at the little face that looked up at him expectantly.

"Yes?" he spoke to her like he would a person and was dealt another headbutt in reply.

Thinking the animal wanted more space, he uncrossed his legs to move over but found instead that was what she had been signalling for as she stepped carefully over his lap and placed herself on his other side, body pressed up against his leg.

"You're a funny thing," he chuckled, stroking her downy coat as they settled in for the night.

Work was nothing to complain about the next day, especially as he went in late and left early without doing much in between. Word must have made it around the office that he had been called upstairs as his presence had gone back to garnering intrigue, colleagues popping their heads out of cubicles like moles out of the earth to catch onto the chain of gossip after he had passed. Hearing snippets of it, he couldn't help but snigger. The things people came up with. To say he had never partaken in gossip would be a lie, but he could say with some certainty that he had never been so naïve as to actually believe what he was told.

The weather had gone back to bitterly freezing to signify that January would soon be upon them, bringing with it the promise of a new year and the crushing realisation that things never changed but Arthur wouldn't let himself dwell on the thought, his mind focused on getting out of the elements. He practically burst through the door with a gust of ice and was immediately called through to the living room.

"Arthur, Alfred is on the line," Francis prompted him to hurry through, still removing his coat as his face stung.

"Hey man, sorry I keep missing you, my schedule is packed," Alfred apologised over the skype call, "How you been?"

"Good, good, but I'm more interested in you, what have you been doing?" Arthur was eager to get to the point, wanting to make the most of their contact time.

"A lot," the younger man sighed, running a hand through his damp hair, appearing fresh from the shower, "Practice every morning, nine till twelve, then again from two until five. Plus, the rest of the team goes to the gym in the evenings and I don't want to look like I can't handle it, so I go with them."

"I hope you're not overdoing it," Arthur's concern came through on his face as well as his words as he could tell how exhausted his brother was from the way he sat hunched over, shoulders sagging.

"No, I mean, I am pretty tired, but like, in a good way," the other tried to explain, a smile on his face despite the bags under his eyes, "Like, I really feel like I'm pushing myself further than ever, and I'm improving."

"As long as you're taking care of yourself," the older sibling fretted softly.

Shaking his head at his former guardian's clucking, Alfred addressed the other two family members.

"Matt, can't you be the reckless one for once and break your leg or something so that he stops worrying about me?" he joked darkly.

"I'll get right on that," was the younger twin's dry reply.

A disturbance from off camera caught Alfred's attention and a muffled voice spoke to him, halting their conversation.

"Sure, sure," he spoke to the someone offscreen then turned back to his family, "Alright, I'm about to go get lunch before I have to be back on the field."

"You are eating well, yes? Not just junk food?" Francis badgered him.

"Um, I had an apple yesterday," Alfred seemed to think that sufficed while Francis disparaged quietly.

"Have a good time then," Arthur bid a curt farewell, glad he had been able to see the other but disappointed it had been so fleeting.

"Yeah, I'll see you," he responded to the group in general and was gone.

"He seems he hardly has time to breath," Francis commented, closing the laptop and exiting into the kitchen to check on their food.

Arthur made a sound of assent as he looked over to his other brother whom he had yet to greet properly and smiled when he saw Queenie at his side.

"She took a liking to you then," he observed.

"She was just hanging out and she let me come over and pet her," Matthew showed the same expression back, "She's so adorable, I love her."

Reaching over to give her head a pat, the older man turned his attention to his present sibling.

"So, how have you been?"

"Not bad, just getting through school work and stuff. Enjoying the peace while it lasts," he jibed at his twin's expense, "Oh, actually, would you mind doing me a favour?"

"Course not," Arthur watched as he reached into his rucksack and pulled out a document contained in a plastic sheet.

"It's just my resume, could you check it for me?" he held it out.

Sliding the sheet from it's protective cover, Arthur scanned it for errors. For someone of his age it was a rather impressive work history, both of his brothers having taken up what they could find once they turned sixteen in order to help with the house finances in any way they could.

"Looks good, what are you applying for?" Arthur enquired, handing it back.

Matthew tucked it away again and adjusted his glasses.

"Well, you know that old music shop you used to go to?" he paused, and Arthur nodded as he recalled the state it had been in last he saw it, "There's a new book store opening up there. I don't know if they're looking for anyone, but it's worth a shot."

"Definitely," the other encouraged.

A book shop seemed the right fit for the area, in-keeping with the rest of the quaint line-up. His mother would have loved it, he couldn't help but think.

He was called through to help his significant other with setting the table before he could allow the melancholic hypotheticals to take hold, however, and a substantial amount of food was set out, Francis apparently not having accounted for the absence of one. They chatted over the meal, Queenie eating along with them over in the corner, having come to terms with Francis' insistence on staying, and the missing member of their group was felt in not only the abundance of leftovers but the subdued conversation that lacked his animated input.

The older two men cleared the table and set about washing up, leaving the youngest of the family sat alone, looking rather lonely without his counterpart.

"I meant to ask, have you spoken to Alistair yet?" Francis brought up casually as he wiped down the counters.

Shooting a glance over, Arthur bristled at the question.

"Not yet," he said shortly.

"You are going to though, yes?" the other emphasised.

Again, Arthur looked over. "Yes, Francis," he sounded exasperated over the subject already.

"You're talking to Alistair again?" Matthew joined the discussion, curious at the mention of a name he hadn't heard in some time.

"He sent a card telling your brother to call him and he has not yet," Francis regaled and turned to his other half, "If you do not, then I will."

"I said I would, I'm going to," Arthur snapped tersely, immediately looking away, cheeks becoming pink at having lashed out so quickly.

"Alright, I believe you," the older man backed off, everything going quiet for a beat before Arthur, for some unknown reason, saw the need to carry on.

"Why are you so insistent that I speak to him, anyhow?" he demanded.

Shrugging, Francis put simply, "You are family."

"We're not family, we're just related," the other rejected indignantly.

"Does that not count for something?" the elder of the couple urged.

Arthur said nothing, an unpleasant sensation, like bile, rising in his throat as he contained his irritation.

"Either way, is has been almost half a decade since you last saw him, he must be almost thirty by now. Surely, he is not the same person you had a problem with all that time ago," Francis' assurance that people changed did little to help his argument.

"I don't really care what he's like now, I don't particularly want to find out, why are you defending him when you barely know him?" Arthur's tone was harsh, he felt he wasn't being listened to. It was the same exchange they had every time Alistair was brought into the picture and their stances never changed.

"Uh, guys…" a voice in the background uttered but was drowned out by the escalating discourse.

"I know him as well as you do and I do not think it is right to demonize a person like you do to him," Francis condemned.

"I don't demonize him, we just don't get on. Is it not okay for me to think that?" the other exacerbated rhetorically.

Eyes rolling somewhat melodramatically, the slightly more level headed of the two enunciated his words with forced composure.

"I am not telling you what to think, I-,"

"You are, though," Arthur countered, both men again ignoring the soft plea to stop coming from the other occupant of the room.

"I am giving you my opinion," Francis reiterated in the same manner as before.

"In a way that shows you think I am wrong," Arthur mimicked his tone.

A hard sigh came from the older man, his jawline tensing, clearly in a state of frustration that he was unwilling to show.

"Have you ever thought that you do not get on because you are so resistant to him? Perhaps if you tried to make an effort you would find you are…Matthew?" he stopped himself mid-sentence and looked beyond his sparring partner, prompting Arthur to look behind himself.

The boy he addressed appeared not to hear him, staring blankly at the floor as his chest rose and fell rapidly.

"Mattieu, what is wrong?" Francis repeated his name, worry tinging his voice, to no response.

"Matt," Arthur tried to the same result, "Matty?"

He moved over, his encroaching presence seeming to alert something in the younger man as his head snapped up, wide eyes blinking erratically.

"Y-yeah," he stuttered, jaw quivering.

"What is the matter, mon cherie?" Francis came over behind his partner, troubled eyes looking directly into the unfocused ones of the fraught man that flit between his two parental figures.

"Nothing, I just, I, nothing," his words stuck in his throat and tumbled from his mouth too fast.

His usually pale face had been further drained of colour and the look upon it, a look of fear, fear of the moment he was living in, was one that Arthur recognised with heart-breaking familiarity. It was one he had seen in mirrors while held in the clutches of panic or anger. Hauntingly perfect in its portrayal of confused terror, like the face of a man that had jumped from a building only to change his mind as his feet left the safety of solid ground. It hurt to realise he knew the feeling.

He crouched in front of his brother to look at that face, challenging what lurked behind it.

"It's okay Matthew, you're okay, you can breathe," he took on the softest tone he could, placing a hand on his knee to reconnect him with the world outside of his head.

Despite having no clue how to help himself in the same situation, his words seemed to get through as Matthew turned his attention only to his sibling, eyes beseeching him.

"I'm sorry, I know you hate when people argue and we should know better than to do that in front of you, but there's nothing to be afraid of, I swear. Just let it pass," he looked between the eyes that had latched onto him, hoping he was conveying some sort of reassurance, "It'll go away."

Francis, having sensed he should stay out of the way, watched on nervously as Matthew concentrated on regaining control of his body and mind, Arthur doing his best to be of comfort, softly muttered phrases slowly coaxing him down from the heights of anxiety.

A tense while later the room was quiet, free from the sound of hastened panting, as the three of them remained still. Arthur, still knelt on the floor, let his hand slide from where it cupped his brother's knee, and studied his changed expression closely.

"Are you okay?" he asked, testing whether he could get a coherent response rather than whether he was actually alright.

"Yeah, thank you," he was happy to hear returned, albeit shakily.

With a wrought sigh, Arthur shifted from his spot and eased up into the chair next to Matthew.

"So," he opened the dialogue, "When did this start happening?"

It probably wasn't the time to ask and he was aware of that, but he was unable to do nothing.

Glancing over then back down into his lap, Matthew fiddled with the fabric of his sleeves, pulling them down to cover his hands.

"When I started college," he admitted, "Not right away, though. Maybe at the end of my first year."

His honesty seemed a struggle, so Arthur didn't press him, but Francis was lost as to what was going on.

"What started, exactly?" he interjected.

Directing his bespectacled gaze to the older man, a dejected smile skewed his lips.

"It's an anxiety disorder," he clarified, receiving a solicitous expression, "But it's really not as bad as it looks," he felt the need to add.

"It doesn't matter how it looks, how bad is it? Does this happen often?" Arthur implored.

Matthew shook his head, his golden waves bouncing about. "Not anymore," his hushed voice betrayed no trace of a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth.

"Anymore?" Arthur wanted to hear what he was keeping back.

He looked about to resist, raising a hand to his mouth to run the material of his sweater over his lips, but he talked on.

"I guess when it first started happening it was sort of bad. It would happen once a week, maybe twice, not for any reason but then I went to my school councillor and it got a lot better."

"Are you still seeing them? Does Alfred know about this?" Francis' mixed feelings got the better of him as he began to question rapidly.

"I only go when I think I need to now, it's nowhere near as bad anymore," the younger man took his queries without hesitation, unfazed by sharing his feelings, "And Alfred…yeah he knows but it's not like we talk about it a lot or anything. He just knows that sometimes I need space."

Sighing, Francis groaned what both older men were thinking.

"Why did you not tell us, cherie?"

Guilt resting on his features, the younger man removed his glasses to rub his eyes then replaced them.

"I guess I felt like I didn't need to, you know? I learned to handle it and…I don't know, I should have told you, I'm sorry."

"That doesn't matter, we know now," Arthur refused to see him beat himself up over such a thought.

"Oui, that is what is important," Francis joined him.

Bobbing his head tiredly in agreement, the other looked thoroughly drained by the experience.

"Did you maybe want to stay here tonight?" Francis noticed this.

"If you don't mind," Matthew appreciated, the older man sending him a warm smile as he stood, coming over to hold the younger man's face in his hands and plant a kiss atop his head before going to set up the sofa.

The two brothers left together, Matthew turned to the older man to offer another of his doleful smiles.

Returning a similar one, Arthur got up to go and help his partner but not before restating one more time, "You know you can tell us anything, don't you?"

"I know," he heard back.

After setting out the spare sheets over the sofa, the couple left Matthew to himself and went upstairs to bed. Even though it wasn't late, the stress of everything appeared to have gotten to everyone as both older men were sapped of energy by the time they reached their room.

Tossing his phone onto the bed, Arthur began stripping off his work clothes, replacing them with a t-shirt and baggy pyjama bottoms while Francis let his jeans fall to the floor and slid under the covers. The silence of the house reflected the sobered mood of its occupants and, in retrospect, the entire evening felt somehow predestined.

"I'm sorry I got angry at you," Arthur turned and apologised to the other who looked back like he hadn't been expecting such a sentiment, "I don't know why I got angry I just, I knew I was going to call him but I didn't like you telling me I needed to, I suppose."

An idiotic sounding explanation when said out loud, but it was God's honest truth and it startled him a little at how easily it came out.

"That is alright. I am sorry that I can be so pushy at times," Francis expressed likewise.

They looked at each other a while, astounded by how simple the solution to what usually would have been a night of guilt and regret was. Not a single hint of misgiving between them, Arthur climbed into his side of the bed and gladly leaned over to reciprocate the kiss waiting for him there then turned out the light.

Waking too dazed to understand it was still night outside some undeterminable amount of time later, the man beside him still soundly asleep, Arthur squinted up at the ceiling wondering what had caused him to jolt so suddenly from unconsciousness. He didn't recall hearing a sound from outside nor was he having a particularly lively dream, or any dream that he could make out, and so the cause would remain unkown.

Mouth so dry that his tongue was glued to the roof of it, he spent a few minutes debating whether he should get up for a glass of water before actually doing so, sitting up slowly so as not to disturb his boyfriend in spite of knowing how deeply he slept. The sound of his every movement amplified against the stillness of the night, it took him a while to make it across the landing and down the stairs, having to pause at each creaking board.

Eventually making it to the bottom of the flight, he slunk past the front room archway, peeking in at his brother who lay motionless. The poor boy, he truly was too wholesome for his own good at times.

Creeping a few steps in, he studied the sleeping face, darkened lids closed behind the glasses he had forgotten to take off before passing out, his phone still in his hand and in danger of falling to the floor. With well-practiced hands, Arthur gently pulled the frames from his nose as he had done many times before, folding them and placing them on the table, and did the same with his phone. Unaware of the activity going on around him, the younger man barely stirred from the position he was in, covers pulled up to his chin and face half buried in the pillow.

Laying a hand tenderly on his knotted head, the older man sympathised to the point of agony. He ran his fingers through the thick strands, separating the tangles without tugging at the roots. His hair was as soft as it had been when he was five years old and hadn't darkened at all since, unlike Alfred's hair which had gone several shades closer to brown as he grew older. One last look down as he rested his palm gently over the side of his head then he let him be, going to the kitchen.

Painstakingly taking a glass from the cupboard and running the tap as low as he could to avoid causing a racket, he stood by the sink to drink his half-filled beverage in one gulp but found himself not quite satisfied. He turned the tap again, water spurting out with an abrupt sputtering and he cursed the old pipes, quickly turning the flow off to silence the noise.

"Hello?" a drowsy voice mumbled across the hallway.

Berating himself for his carelessness, Arthur sighed and left his glass in the sink.

"Sorry, it's just me, didn't mean to be so loud," he spoke just below regular volume, although by comparison he felt as though he were shouting, as he came into view of the face that had emerged over the arm of the sofa.

"It's fine, just making sure I'm not hearing things," Matthew relaxed again, "You okay?"

"I was getting some water," the other shuffled a few steps closer and leant against the doorframe, his brother's ghostly face almost glowing in the sheer moonlight that struck through the curtains. "I'm so sorry, Matt," something in him crumbled at the sight, the image of those panic stricken eyes etched into his brain, reminding him he had failed as a brother, unable to protect his family from anything.

"It's not your fault, Arthur, I've been stressed with school and Alfred being gone is weird to me too, it would have happened anyway," Matthew referred to what had happened earlier.

"No, I'm sorry, Matt. I should have known something was wrong, payed more attention to you. I've always been so worried about Al that it's like you get forgotten, that's not fair," the elder sibling lamented, thinking of all the times the younger of the twins had gone overlooked.

"Arty, please, you're overthinking this," the other tried to calm him, "You don't really think it's your fault, do you?"

"It's not yours," Arthur argued as though that were a logical progression of thought.

The centre of his brows wrinkling, Matthew propped himself up on one elbow.

"It's not anyone's," he stated gently.

Arthur couldn't stand the way the other's eyes tried to persuade him and turned his gaze to the floor.

"I know the thought that things just happen randomly is kind of unsettling but that's how it is," he continued to murmur in his knowing way, watching his sibling with a look more world weary than a nineteen year old should have been able to give, "Things happen to us that are out of our control and we're affected by them. That's all it is."

He hated that it made sense, hated the uncontrollable nature of it all, but he was right.

"And I never felt like you forgot me, not once," he tagged on, "You're an amazing brother."

Hearing it said in his brother's voice made the older man happier than he cared to admit and a simpering smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"So are you," he hoped the extent to which he meant what he said came across, "Get some sleep."

He waited for Matthew to settle down under the covers, the way he used to when he would go and check on both his brothers when they were younger, before he headed for the stairs. At the top he came upon a little white ball that had chosen the middle of the landing floor for its bed. Scooping it up without complaint, he carried her into the bedroom with him, setting her down on the bed and getting in himself.

Queenie circled in the spot he had put her several times, considering if she liked the new sleeping place, then spread herself out between the peaks of soft fabric. Kissing at her quietly, she rolled, stretching her paws up so that her fuzzy belly was exposed. Thinking she must get bored being stuck in the house all day, Arthur made a note to himself to buy her some toys the next day, slotting the chore in alongside making the dreaded call and, with a groan, planned it around the therapy session he had scheduled after work. With everything that had happened since he last saw Tino that was sure to be interesting.

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I actually managed a timely upload, amazing. So I'm sorry if some of this seemed like it sort of came out of left field but the whole Alistair thing has a purpose, I promise. Also, let me know what you think of Matthew because I like to make him as cute as possible and I have a tendency to get carried away.

As you can probably tell, I am a cat person and a fun coincidence is that my mum used to have a cat called Arthur.

Reviews welcomed and follow if you want to stay up to date since I don't have a regular schedule.