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.

19. Chapter 19

Thank yous and messages at the end

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"Who is it?" Francis called from upstairs.

"It's just Al," Arthur replied as he stared at his brother, face blank.

"Oh, I will not be long. Tell him he may not leave until I have fed him. Is Matthieu here too?"

Alfred remained where he stood on the threshold, his smile wavering, watching the exchange and waiting for the other to address what he had been told.

"No, just Alfred. There's no rush," Arthur deterred his partner, and all went quiet.

Stood in the hall, looking at one another, the silence lingered between the two for only a few seconds, though too long for Alfred to take.

"Did you hear what I said?" he prompted for some kind of response, eyes searching the impassive green gaze of his sibling.

Giving nothing away, Arthur blinked. "You just found out?" he spoke slowly, waiting for the news to sink in, like the cold slap of it still rested on his skin.

"Yeah, less than an hour ago," the younger of the two began to grow worried, thin lines of it showing in his forehead, "Artie, you alright? What are you thinking? Don't go quiet on me, man."

The answer therein lay the puzzling thing. Arthur's non-reaction, his calm composure and self-control, were not forced. Though he still felt the worry, sadness, happiness and all other manner of things that were expected in reply to such news, they failed to overrun his senses. Rather he paused, waited for the internal meltdown he was accustomed to, and found it never arrived. The cool flood of his brother's words struck him, but he stood firm. Their icy shock warmed and melted as Alfred's voice resounded in his mind, made its way through his brain until they settled there comfortably amidst all the other unremarkable thoughts Arthur had had that day.

And so, it was with genuine, if bittersweet, joy that he felt himself smile as he looked into the anxious face of the other.

"I'm so proud of you," he uttered, a slight catch in his voice that he didn't try to smother.

Concern only tightening its hold as Alfred shifted tensely in place, he winced as he entreated his sibling, "So, you're not upset?"

A little saddened by the idea his family held of him, Arthur let out a breath, his lips still tilted upward as his brows drew together.

"No, Al, I'm not upset," he repeated back, adding sincerely, "I'll miss you, but I'm not upset."

Features loosening, the younger man seemed unconvinced. "You mean it?" he kept his gaze fixed on the older man, searching his face.

There was an odd glint in his eyes, something almost timid about the way he was looking at Arthur, as though something in the very core of him had been disturbed.

"Yes, I mean it," Arthur's smile began to drop as he caught onto the other's expressive looks, "Why don't you believe me? What's the matter?"

"I mean, no offence, but you know how you get," Alfred diverted his focus to the floor as he scratched at the back of his neck, "You worry and stuff. I don't want you to worry about me, I know how much it bothers you."

"Well, I don't know when you started worrying so much about what I thought of things," Arthur tried to joke, knowing it would likely fall flat, as it did.

He received a telling look from the other. One that encapsulated all that jumbled words would have been unable to say, one that contradicted the older man's jesting to show there was nothing in the world he cared more about than his family's approval. A drawn brow and doleful blue eyes that begged not to be brushed off with such light sentiments.

With a soft sigh that blew the gaiety from his face, Arthur's eyes dropped to the side then back to his brother. "I worry about you, I'll always worry about you," he admitted with a gesture of his shoulder, "but there's nothing you can do about that. It's just part of being a family."

Alfred didn't reply, gaze falling once more.

"So, you shouldn't let that stop you from doing what you want to do," the older of the two finished off.

Again, no response came from the younger man, his attention locked intently on the welcome mat from which he had yet to move as he scuffed the ground with the toe of his shoe.

Becoming disturbed by the lack of reaction he received from the ordinarily animated boy, a frown scored Arthur's forehead.

"Al?" he addressed with concern.

A few beats more of this agitated stillness until a heaving breath wrenched the younger man.

"But what if you're right?" his voice was barely audible.

His frown becoming one of confusion, Arthur tilted his head, trying to gain a better view of the other's face. "Right about what?"

"Right to worry about me," Alfred mumbled, lifting his gaze to meet his brother's momentarily before walking past him into the living room.

Following him through, Arthur shook his head, not grasping the situation. "I don't understand," he sat beside his sibling on the sofa and leant forward to see the perturbed tautness of his face.

"I mean…" again, Alfred let go a tremendous breath that seemed to empty him completely, "What if you should be worried. There's so much to be worried about, this is such a huge thing and…what if I can't do it..."

His words became fainter and petered away, but Arthur heard the meaning of them clearly.

"I've never doubted you, Al, that's never been the reason I've worried," he jumped to reassure, shuffling closer to the other.

"But what if it should have been?" The dejectedness with which he spoke was shocking to hear coming from the same mouth that usually spewed sunshine and rainbows, his lips pressed together. "Man, you should have seen how those guys over there played, I could barely keep up. I know I only got the spot because hardly anyone from my school tried out."

"You got it because you worked for it," Arthur couldn't help but feel he was being somewhat cliché but that didn't stop him from believing what he said fully.

"But it's not just that, like," Alfred continued, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as he let his feelings spill more freely, "being away from everyone was hard." His eyes flitted over to the person he had missed the most during his time away. "Really hard," he repeated more softly, "and I know that it'll only be for a year…but it'll be a whole year."

Overwhelmed by even the thought of it, his head hung forward as he ran a hand through his hair.

"I just don't want to make the wrong choice and screw everything up," he muttered to the floor.

"And how would you screw everything up?" Arthur added some levity to his tone to hide the fact that his heart ached, "What could you possibly do to mess up so terribly?"

A twitch of the lips was as much of a reply as he could get from the slumped form beside him.

"Al, even if something does go wrong, what does it really matter?" he adopted a different approach, "You're nineteen, if this isn't the time to make mistakes, when is?"

"But I can't, and I shouldn't," Alfred sat back suddenly with some force, frustrated with himself, and met eyes with his former guardian, "Shouldn't I have figured it out by now? I should be ready for this. I mean, look at where you were when you were my age."

"Alfred, please, please don't use me as something to model yourself after," Arthur's words were stern, even a little fearful, as he beseeched him. Having been to the places his life had led him, he would have done anything to save his brother from taking the same route.

Catching the twinge in the older man's voice, Alfred watched him quietly, looking between his eyes from behind his frames.

"The things that I did back then, I did them because I had to," he reflected over years gone by, years he was sure that Alfred saw very differently from himself. Of course, he was flattered that his brother saw him as a shining example, something to aspire to, but he had to know that his ambitions were misguided. "And I can assure you that I fucked up plenty along the way," he swore to the mild amusement of the other who cracked the slightest smile at the thought.

"You get what I mean, though," he related, "You had a house, a boyfriend, a full-time job by twenty. And I'm afraid of being away from home for a little while."

A soft chuckle left Arthur's throat, one brow raised. "I inherited a house I couldn't afford along with all the debts it had, did the bare minimum to keep a relationship together and worked more than forty miserable hours a week," he dismissed the romanticised image of himself with the harsh reality of how things had been, not meaning to pity himself but to show the truth of the matter.

He could see thoughts passing behind the other's eyes and watched him raise a hand to prod at his lower lip as he considered.

"You're only young once, Al, don't let it pass you by because you're too busy worrying about things," he looked earnestly, deeply into the younger man's face, seeing the doubt had started to slip from his expression.

The bathroom door opened, and Francis shouted down to them, "I will be with you in a few minutes."

"Alright," Arthur said back, sight still set on the man beside him whose private contemplation was unbroken. Leaving him to his own thoughts a few seconds, Arthur watched him, the inner turmoil he faced showing, and addressed him once more. "Do whatever you think will make you happiest. That's all that matters really, that's all I want for you. And if anything goes wrong, we'll always be here for you. But I think you want this. You'll do amazing."

It was probably the most openly sentimental he'd been with Alfred since their mother had died and the emotion of it wasn't lost on him, it appeared, as the younger man's eyes held a thin sheen of moisture.

Inhaling through his nose as he sat upright, Alfred cleared his throat. "I'll miss you," he uttered after a beat.

Smiling back at him, unable to recall the last time he had seen the man before him as vulnerable, as fragile as he now appeared, Arthur felt something. A sense of relief, almost, a release somewhere in the depths of his chest, like a connection stretched to its limits had at long last been severed. It was liberating.

"I'll miss you too, but why think about that now?" he couldn't bear to see him upset a moment longer, and sought to dispel the sombre mood, "It's not like you're leaving tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah, right," Alfred nodded as a single tear slipped from behind his frames to dampen his cheek. "You're right. Oh God, why am I getting upset over this, it's so stupid."

He tipped his head back, trying to force the moisture back into his skull, and rubbed his eyes behind his glasses vigorously, pressing his face into them a moment before sitting forward again.

"I know, it's a lot," Arthur sympathised, reaching out to place a hand on the younger man's reddened cheek, allowing it to rest there briefly. "I'm so proud of you," he reiterated his statement of earlier, letting the hand fall as Alfred smiled.

"Bonsoir, cheri, how are you this evening," Francis entered the room in much higher spirits than he had returned home earlier, though they faltered on seeing the younger man's blotchy face, "What is it? What has happened?"

Apprehension sprung to his face as he hurried closer, but Alfred stopped him, standing and smiling with renewed excitement to impart his news.

"Nothing, I'm fine, really," he attested, glancing back at his brother then to the man before him, "I was just telling Arthur that I got a place on the team. I'm going to America next year."

"Oh, mon cher!" Francis predictably erupted into a flurry of theatrically affectionate lamentations and congratulations, clinging to the larger man as though he were the only stable thing in the world.

Alfred, forever patient, only hugged him back with promises that he would be missed but that there was no need for such dramatics, and Arthur was reassured in hearing the other's comforts sounded as though they were sincere.

"But we must have a celebration in your honour!" Francis exclaimed through the performance, "You will announce it to everyone, they all must know your success!"

"I don't know about all that," the celebrated man declined with a soft laugh, "But I wouldn't mind seeing the others, I'd like to tell them."

"Of course, you will," the older man looked to his partner who watched on with some amusement, "We bring everyone here, oui? This weekend, no, the one after. I do not know, but, oh! Mon cheri!"

He clasped both hands to the poor boy's cheeks, kissing him relentlessly.

"You know, if you smother him to death there'll be nothing to celebrate," Arthur tutted from the side lines as his brother was beset, his attacker eventually calming and insisting on feeding him before he left.

Talk from then on was, of course, dominated by the bombshell just delivered but Arthur managed to squeeze in his far less interesting news from earlier that day. His application was treated with more subdued reactions, for which he was grateful, as he had nothing to fear of what his other half might say when said man was so distracted by other topics. And so, they sat about the kitchen and spoke, or rather listened to Francis gush, while dinner was prepared.

Arthur didn't say much over the course of the short-lived evening, catching the occasional look of mild concern thrown to him by one of the other two, but rebuffed them with easy smiles. The more serious turn in conversation which Arthur had expected was kept until after Alfred was waved off at the door and out of earshot.

Leaving his partner to lock up the front door once their goodbyes were said, Arthur stood studying the calendar, trying to work out the logistics of the get together that had been mentioned.

"I think this weekend will be too short notice for everyone, we had better leave it until the week after, like you said," he suggested, biting his lip in thought as he looked back at the other for his input, "We could call it a belated New Year's."

"Yes, that might be best," he assented, the subdued tone of his voice betraying that the inevitable topic was to follow. Arthur watched as he approached cautiously, as though a sudden movement may spook him. Clearly, he expected his partner to be in a far more delicate state than he was. "Are you alright?" he hardly needed to speak the words as the question was so evidently written in his person.

Sighing, Arthur smiled. "Yes, Francis. I'm fine," he gave no word of a lie but knew he wouldn't be believed.

"You are sure?" Francis checked, creeping closer still like he intended on capturing the lie that wasn't there.

"I'm sure," Arthur only held his blithe expression, the weightless cadence of his assurances seconding what he said, yet still he was regarded with suspicion.

Eyes the colour of hidden lagoons scoured his features and Arthur moved closer, drawn in by their untold depths. "You have to start trusting me," he reached out to lay his hands upon Francis' forearms, stroking the length of them to join their hands. "I know I've lied about this sort of thing before, but I'm being honest." He gazed into the bottomless waters that watched him still with reservations. "I have no way to prove it, so you'll just have to believe me."

Those watery pools angled downwards to observe their joined hands and rippled with the smile that formed below them.

"Prove it by meaning it," he brought their hands up to kiss the scar stained knuckles of the fingers that laced his own.

How one was supposed to prove meaning, Arthur couldn't say, though he knew Francis did not ask him of this literally. Lowering their hands, he leaned in to press their lips together and held them there, perhaps hoping that his intentions might be transmitted via the act. He felt the other press back, accepting it as a vow, and savoured the velveteen touch of his warm mouth.

They headed to bed not long after, finding Queenie there, still sulking from the scolding she had received, and both slept without feeling. Numb even to one another as they lay so completely unconscious at each other's sides through the night, the next morning came almost as a surprise to Arthur, as though sleep was so concrete, he had forgotten there was an alternative. But he found himself awake and held in the dewy light of a new day, all else in the house still and quiet.

He opened his eyes to a face still occupied in dreaming, so close to his own that he was warmed by the breath that came from its nose in short puffs, and he settled into the tranquillity. Shuffling closer still, though not much so as another body at the foot of the bed blocked him, he restrained himself from touching that soft head. Strands of flaxen thread fell in disarray over the pillow and he longed to sweep them into order.

Instead he watched, the sun creeping higher behind him as it had started to earlier each morning in its eagerness to greet the earth. It took the sound of an alarm to finally rouse the other, who came back to the real world reluctantly, squeezing his eyelids together before they parted a fraction at a time. Had he known they would be greeted with as sweet a sight as their object of desire shrouded in a halo of golden vapour smiling back at them, they'd have been flung apart with fervour.

"Why are you awake so early?" Francis croaked instead, drawing an arm from under the covers to obscure his yawning mouth.

"I didn't know what the time was," Arthur lifted his head to see the clock on Francis' side table read half past eight, "It's not that early."

"It is for someone who has no need to be awake," the other pointed out with some envy as he rolled over and slapped the source of the continued howling.

Arthur thought this true but had no desire to go back to sleep. He propped himself up on one elbow, resting his head in his hand, as Francis eased himself out of bed and shuffled across the landing. The sound of the shower spurting followed by several foreign curses coaxed a snicker from the younger man, knowing his partner had turned the heat up too high as he sometimes did when still half asleep, and he sat up listening to the faint patter.

Drawing up his knees under the covers, he wrapped his arms around them and rested his head on their peaks, facing the window. A shiver ran up his spine and sent his hair prickling on end. Queenie fidgeted as the sheets around her were disturbed, but her pebble-like eyes remained closed, though Arthur wasn't watching her. Rather he stared absently, contentedly, at the gauzy sky, concocting a loose schedule for the day ahead.

Francis came back to see him unmoved, looking fresher but no less dazed, and looked through the wardrobe. Humming as he considered his options and chatting idly with his lover as he tried out some combinations, he was eventually prepared to face the world and left with a chaste peck farewell. In solitude, Arthur sat in place and listened to his steps down the creaking staircase and the whining of the door that closed on him afterwards.

Sliding from between the sheets into his frigid surrounding, Arthur hurried to be warmed by the shower. He stepped into the pre-dampened cubicle amongst the steam that had yet to dissipate as he tampered with the dial, Francis preferring his showers to be oddly tepid. He didn't loiter, though he would have loved to remain there until the sun went down. Drying himself hurriedly, frostbite nipping viciously at his wet skin, he got dressed with less care than his significant other had exacted and was followed by his lone companion down to the kitchen.

Tea was the first thing to be seen to, rightfully so, and he set the kettle to boil as he set down Queenie's unappetising breakfast. She scoffed it down without trifling, though, in a less than ladylike manner, and sprung onto the counter as her master was excavating the teabag from his mug.

"Now, you know I mustn't let you," he scolded as she sat licking her fuzzy lips at him. "Alright, but don't tell Francis," he caved to her sweet stare and went to get the milk from the fridge.

He retrieved also the box of strawberries he had bought from one of the loud-mouthed street vendors that set up their stalls on the highstreets. They were rather small and a touch bitter as they were out of season, but Arthur had been in the mood for fruit and couldn't resist their cheerful redness. He thought perhaps when warmer weather set in he would try to plant a strawberry bush, and the memory of woodland trecks when he was young, very young, surfaced in the back of his mind.

Through the nettles and thorns, he had ventured in search of blackberries, his mother calling for him to be careful from the path. The sweetest ones grew deep within the bush, he had discovered, and he braved the scrapes and grazes to proudly hold out a handful of the best to her, like a knight with his foreign spoils to his fair maiden. She would sigh with some exasperation over the holes in his shirt and the dirt on his knees but would take the innocent gesture with a smile, exclaiming each time that they were the most delicious thing she had ever tasted.

With muddy, freckled face and knotted hair, he would beam up at her and go in for more as she laughed despairingly at his wild antics. He would still sometimes, when no one was around to see, pluck a berry from some nearby bush that grew feral behind a fence and savour the sharp, sugary burst right there on the street. However, in his mind would be the scent of moist woodland, the sting of open cuts and the radiant face watching over him as he explored with childish delight.

A sigh left him where he stood leant on the counter, in a world of his own. He threw away the tray, now empty as he had eaten his way through the whole thing without thinking, and took down his rose to hold it under the tap a few seconds. The water disturbed a spider that had apparently made its home amongst the leaves. It scuttled out on disproportionate legs, quite disgruntled, and darted about, looking for refuge. Taking pity on the creature, Arthur pushed open the window and brushed it off outside where it tumbled to the outer window ledge.

To his complete fascination, the insect wasted no time and begun to spin a web of fine silk in the lower corner of the frame. Transfixed by the mundane yet mysterious task, the far larger of the creatures watched it through the clouded glass. Its nimble limbs made short work of the deed and it was soon near finished. Such adaptable little things, Arthur marvelled, such clever creatures. What would a human do if some giant came and destroyed their house? Surely, they would never be able to bounce back so fast, yet humans thought themselves so amazing. He scoffed at the arrogance of mankind when one of the worlds simplest beings could outdo them.

But he was unable to see the completion of his arachnid friend's masterpiece, drawn from his rambling thoughts by the sound of his phone ringing upstairs. He hastened his way to catch it before whoever it was hung up and didn't take note of the unknown caller ID before answering it.

"Hello?" he answered it breathlessly after taking the stairs two at a time.

"Good morning. Is this a mister Arthur Kirkland?" a male voice, thickly accented and unknown to him, greeted.

Sitting on the bed, Arthur replied, "This is him."

"Good morning, mister Kirkland, this is the proprietor of Second-Hand Books speaking. I am calling about your application," the voice clarified, though not greatly.

"Oh, good morning, I'm very glad to hear from you," Arthur injected some enthusiasm into his words, knowing how much good impressions mattered, however, 'the proprietor', as he remained known, had no reaction to this.

"Yes, good, I would like to offer you an interview," was his plain response, "Could you be at the store by twelve o'clock?"

Blinking in surprise, Arthur stuttered from the suddenness of it, looking to the clock to see he had little over an hour. "Uh, yes, that shouldn't be a problem."

"Very good. As you handed in your resume in person, I assume you don't need directions," his words were so flat that Arthur couldn't tell whether there was meant to be some sort of humour to them or not, so he simply said that he could find his way perfectly well.

The line was hung up when all necessary information had been exchanged, barely giving Arthur a chance to say thank you and hardly enough time to get ready.

And so, he wasted none, immediately going to the wardrobe to find something of a more appropriate nature to wear. He found a shirt that wasn't too creased to throw on under the jumper he was already wearing, thinking a full suit far too formal, and dug around for a pair of trousers that would do. The only pair he could find were in need of ironing, and so he took them down to the kitchen and quickly did so, quite sloppily as he rushed, though the activity kept him distracted and stopped the nerves from building. Until he left the house, that is, and had nothing to do along his journey other than speculate.

It had been years since his last interview, after all, and it wasn't as though he had mastered the art back then. He just hoped that whoever this 'proprietor' was, he was a reasonable man, not like some of the managers he had come across previously in the retail business. Thinking of some of the interviews he had been to before, the questions they had asked, their condescending smiles, it made him cringe. Every budget establishment owner that had beamed with pride and joked that if he worked hard, he may even be where they were one day, would always haunt him. The idea of it made Arthur's blood run cold.

He shouldn't judge them, he thought to himself as he turned out of his road and onto the next through the brisk chill of the morning. They had only been doing what they had to, they probably had families to support just as he had, and they seemed to enjoy what they did. He was sure they had meant well, but no amount of good will could have lessened the misery of the situation he had found himself in.

But things would surely be different this time, he allowed himself the encouraging thought. He wasn't desperate, he could afford to have some self-worth. It was a concept he was still getting used to, but the more he tried to act on it, the more he liked it. However, the nervousness that had begun to tingle through his extremities, along with the cold, began to spread. A subtle palpitation of the heart, a slight speeding of his pulse, he tried to quell it with mental reassurance, but it persisted.

It was just a practice run, he told himself, drawing on the advice he had received from Tino last time they had met. What was the harm if it didn't work out? And what was the harm if it did? The answer to both was, of course, none, and he ran the thought over many times in his head. Tino had been right, he needed to start having some faith in his own judgement. What's more, he would have to if he ever expected Francis to trust him as he had implored him to.

Such thinking carried him to the door of the shop, and he pulled out his phone to see that he wasn't too early to make an entrance. Five minutes to twelve, he saw, and judged by general protocol that it was acceptable for him to make his way inside.

All appeared as lifeless as ever from the outside, so far as Arthur could see through the windows, and he rapped on the door out of courtesy before trying it for himself. It was open and he came through onto the shop floor, rubbing his hands together to try and instil some life back into them. From the threshold he looked around for a way into a back office, getting a better look than he had done yet of his surroundings as he did so.

From what he could see, he judged that the new owner favoured functionality over fashion as the walls were void of decoration and all items were shrouded in an opaque shade of beige. About half of the shelves had been filled with stock, creased spines facing outward to show a mixture of subject matter and genre. From textbooks on astrophysics to classical poetry, there was a place for everything. Such a selection sent a thrill of exhilaration through his core as he picked out titles he knew and loved, that he had always meant to read, that were new to his eye and thoroughly intriguing.

However, time was not his to waste as he had an appointment to keep, and he drew his eyes from the hardback bound universe before him. There was an open doorway to the right-hand side, next to the register, through which artificial light flooded and following the trail he entered a hallway with several doors. Only one was open and appeared to be the source of the light, so he approached, peering around the frame. The secondary room was just as bland but a good deal more cluttered, boxes both full and empty stacked on the floor around the desk which housed the only other occupant of the building.

Yellow head hunched over its work, his fir green eyes focused on the documents that he scribbled furiously over and failed to notice Arthur stood in the doorway. Said man remained where he was, raising a hand to tap on the wood so as to gain his attention, though a jolt of familiarity prevented him. He knew the man, this 'proprietor', but from where remained a mystery. Wracking his brain for a name and place, he came up blank. He supposed the best way to put this niggling uneasiness to rest was to stop staring stupidly at the man and actually say something, and so he knocked on the open door and smiled amiably when the other looked up.

His reply was not instant, as the man glanced down at the watch on his wrist then back at Arthur before saying anything, as though the accuracy of his greeting meant a great deal to him.

"Good afternoon," he addressed, as the minute hand had just passed the twelve. He rose from his seat and moved to stand beside his desk with hand extended, "Come in."

Coming forward at his stern welcome, Arthur took his hand and shook it. "Afternoon. Arthur: a pleasure to meet you," he introduced with the customary niceties, though the other seemed not to care for them, his stiff countenance unchanging.

"Basch. Zwingli. Please have a seat," it was Erika's brother who gestured to the chair on the other side of the desk then slid back into his own while Arthur held himself from voicing his realisation.

How he hadn't recognised the man by his face alone, those dull, green eyes and rounded chin the very mirror of his sister's, he didn't know. Then again, they weren't exactly formally acquainted, as Arthur only knew him from references made and the occasional sighting at a work function when Erika would drag him along as her plus one. Arthur was, therefore, not offended when Basch didn't recognise him, or didn't let on that he did anyhow, and was contented to keep it this way.

"You appear to have extensive experience, but no recent references," Basch cut straight to the point, studying his resume.

Arthur folded his hands in his lap and picked at the hangnail on his middle finger. Strangely, he found that the tension which had been building up until then had been mostly dispersed. Startled away, perhaps, by the unexpected meeting. "Ah, yes, I left rather…abruptly," he spoke with instinctive formality.

"It is no issue, really," the other waved off the point he had brought up, making Arthur wonder why he had pointed it out at all. "I am looking for someone who can be here Tuesday through to Friday to work nine until three, are you able to do that?"

"Certainly," Arthur replied.

"Are you able to start on Wednesday?" Basch placed the document to the side and looked over with emotionless eyes.

"I should be able to," Arthur was somewhat taken aback by the ease and speed with which their interview concluded, something which must have shown in his face.

Apparently better at reading emotions in others than expressing his own, Basch answered him a little, though not much, more convivially than he had been. "This interview is really just a formality, you are by far the most qualified candidate I have seen for the position and I have run out of time," he explained, tone monotonous as though he bored himself with talking, "My sister, you see, was supposed to come and run the store with me but she got promoted at her other job and decided she would stay there instead. I have been able to hire some weekend staff, but I cannot run this place alone during the week. As much as I would like to."

Arthur hadn't heard the last remark, as at the mention of Erika he had to focus on restraining the smile that threatened to burst through his lips. If anyone in that loathsome place deserved such accolades, it was her. She had worked harder down in that disgusting basement than any one of the bastards at corporate, and always with genuine sweetness and kindness. Guilt flickered in his heart when he considered how even he hadn't appreciated her as she deserved, and he only hoped that she would get the recognition that was rightly hers in her new position. More than that, he prayed she would never lose that optimism that made her such a precious rarity. To wring it out of her would be a crime, one he would hold that company fully accountable for. But she was a smart girl, he assured himself, and she would surely have the good sense to leave if she was unhappy. He respected her enough to believe that.

"I cannot afford to push back our opening date any further than I already have, so it is imperative that you can be here on Wednesday," the other had continued to speak while Arthur was musing and his insistence brought him back.

"I can do that," he guaranteed with a nod.

Bobbing his head with finality, Basch stood and, again, offered a hand. "Good, we will sign the paperwork then."

He buzzed the length of his journey home, though not with anxiety. Excitement for the next week caused his lips to tilt upward and his legs to skip. The whole arrangement had turned out better than he had allowed himself to long for, suspiciously so. He almost refused to believe that things could have worked out so perfectly, thinking momentarily that it must be some sort of elaborate delusion, but he soon brushed away such silly paranoia.

Perhaps it was karma, finally delivering him his due after so many years of torturing him. He laughed a little at the idea, not believing in such things, though he could come up with no better reasoning. Then again, maybe he could. That being the fact that he deserved it. He was a good person that deserved good things because he worked for them, and that was that.

Beaming madly when enclosed in the solitude of his own home, he captured the unsuspecting cat that greeted him, squeezing her with exuberance. She made her displeasure known, moaning like a bagpipe as the life was smooshed out of her, and she was placed back down accordingly, though Arthur continued to smile. Taking his phone from his pocket to inform his partner, he changed his mind and decided he would tell him later in person but did text both of his brother's the good news.

They catered to his enthusiasm, which Arthur admitted was out of proportion with his unimpressive achievement. But he just couldn't help it. In a way, he saw it as a signifier, though tenuously he favoured it, that things were really changing, that his actions did have an effect on his life, and that affect could be positive.

With the weekend approaching, Francis was home late, sacrificing his evening so as to ensure the safety of Saturday and Sunday. Cautiously delighted by the news his partner had to share, he kept himself from dampening his lover's elation with worrisome queries. No, for him to ruin it would be like crushing a rare butterfly in his fist, like trampling an original Van Gogh. He would have a little faith, Francis resolved, he would trust the man he loved as he had always so unquestioningly done before. As he should never have ceased to.

Though it was never Arthur that he had mistrusted, not the Arthur he knew in his mind and soul, but the thing that had taken him. Whatever it was; depression, grief, anxiety, a misalignment of head and heart, of internal and external, Francis didn't feel qualified to make the call. All he knew was that it had taken the Arthur he knew piece by piece, replacing a smile with a scowl and a thought with a lie. He had watched it consume him, first with small bites then with gaping jaws lined with rows of sharp teeth that scraped the meat from the bone, the man from his body.

Before too long there had been a skeleton in his bed, tattered shreds of the person that was gone still hanging limply from its white bones. Francis had looked at him, seen right through his exposed ribcage and out to the other side. For a while and in those darkest of moments, he was sickened to admit, he almost believed him dead. But he knew better. Even then he could find faith. Though the frame of a person lives within their flesh, so too does a person exist inside of that same white shell. In the skull resides the brain and, in that brain, there was Arthur, Francis knew it, and he had been right.

Alongside whatever infested him, he was crammed in there, looking for a crack to crawl out of and stretch his limbs. Francis had seen him in there, caught glimpses of him through the windows of his eyes, pleading and clawing at the emerald glass whilst his mask remained stoic. Francis would have done anything to trade places. The worst of it had been knowing he could do nothing. He could only watch. Only hold him in the night so close that he might slip into his skin and join him in that bony cell.

As much as he may have wanted to believe it a recent phenomenon, the further back he remembered, the more he saw that whatever it was had been there a long time. Longer than he had first considered. Before all the problems started, before they lost the house, before his job tore him apart, before Alice died. When she got sick, maybe, Francis could see that. The news of it had planted it in him and it had grown, fed by his grief and fear.

These were the thoughts that kept him awake at night, as the man he pained himself over rested unknowing beside him. He rolled onto his side and watched that sleeping face, comforted by knowing that when those eyes the colour of sunlight through the forest opened, he would be seeing Arthur. Not some prisoner behind a wall or a phantom in mocking disguise, but Arthur. Although, perhaps not the same one as before it had all begun.

Experiences changed a person, Arthur could never go back to being that innocent, if grouchy and neurotic, eighteen year old he had been before the doctor sat him down and told him his mother would be dead in a year. If not trauma, then still age had left its mark. But parts of that boy had come back, the parts that had faded over a time. The way that he talked; easier, freer. His eyes were clearing of the sadness that had blurred them, he walked with his head up and his feelings on his face. Things had changed and as much as Francis kept himself up at night with these reflections, he could take solace in the fact that they were the past. He could allow himself some peace at that, he thought as his eyes drifted closed.

---

Francis had used some initiative and taken advantage of a good deal during one of his midday browsing breaks at work, finding a very fashionable set of sofas which were to be delivered at the weekend. Arthur really didn't mind that he hadn't been consulted on the decision, especially when he saw the price. In fact, he'd be glad to be rid of the decaying old heap it would be replacing, with the cushions practically compressed into sheets of paper, strings worn out and hanging loose and the stuffing spilling free.

It had been second hand when they bought the thing, or when Alice had bought it rather, out of some charity shop and there had just never been a reason to replace it. Like so many things, it had remained with them because to make a point of being rid of it felt unnecessary yet, once the furniture had been dragged to the driveway, Arthur realised just how much better the living room was with it gone. How clear and how huge it seemed. He wondered why they hadn't slung it to the curb the moment they moved in.

They weren't left sitting cross legged on the carpet for long, though, as their purchases arrived before midday and presented them with quite the challenge with getting it inside. However, after some strategizing, swearing and more than one bruise acquired, they managed and spent much of the remaining weekend breaking it in. Queenie wasn't a fan, it seemed, but after being plopped down on the cushions she warmed quickly to her plush new throne and immediately sunk her claws into the pristine upholstery.

"Ah! No, you do not! Mauvais chat!" Francis shrieked, yanking her off and passing her over to Arthur so that he could fuss over the non-existent damage.

Taking the animal thrust into his arms, Arthur breathed a slight laugh and looked from his partner to the face of the creature he held. Eyes like rare stones were focused on the foreign object still as Queenie struggled to be let down, eager to get back to exploring. She meowed in frustration as her master continued to restrain her for the sake of his partner, exposing a pink mouth full of tiny needles. It was easy to forget, the much larger of the two considered, that such a sweet little thing was at heart a wild animal. A hunter's mind worked between those fuzzy ears, that adorable button nose could smell fear and would surely not take pity. As her splinter like claws dug a little too hard into the flesh of his forearm, Arthur dropped her to the ground, watching her with much the same feeling as he would a lion at the zoo.

"Francis, why don't we try taking her outside?" he suggested, still watching her as she prowled and sniffed.

"Right now?" Francis looked back over his shoulder at his other half.

"We've put it off long enough, don't you think? The poor thing must be going stir crazy," Arthur empathised with the feeling of entrapment one got from being in the house too many days consecutively. He could barely take a week of it before imploding, so he could only imagine how Queenie must have felt.

Glancing down to the creature they spoke of, then out of the window, Francis hesitated. "Do you not think we should wait until it is a little warmer?" he deferred the idea.

Arthur shrugged. "I doubt it'll bother her."

"But her paws will be frozen on the ground," Francis noted, brow furrowing with worry as he looked down at the fragile thing, "and with all the work you have been doing out there, it is covered in stones, she could get hurt."

Directing his focus to his partner with some confusion, Arthur saw the reservation written on his face. "She'll be fine, Francis, there's nothing out there than can do her any real harm."

No reply came from the other who stood with eyes following Queenie's inquisitive movements as he folded his arms, raising one hand to rest his fingertips on his lower lip.

"You're frowning, what's the matter?" Arthur prompted him to spill his brewing concerns.

Francis glanced over to meet his partner's questioning eyes briefly, then diverted his gaze back to the little creature as he spoke. "Are you sure we should let her go outside? Why can she not be an indoor cat?" he asked his other half to reconsider.

"It seems rather cruel, don't you think? To confine her whole life to a few small rooms," Arthur prevailed upon him, however, Francis remained evidently unconvinced.

"But…" he sighed, lips twisting together as he looked to Arthur, "What is she…runs away?"

Forehead crinkling, Arthur cocked his head slightly. "Why would she run away?"

The other shrugged, the same perturbed expression scoring his features and, in spite of the seriousness held there, Arthur couldn't keep in a chuckle at the endearing pout on the other's lips.

"Darling, what reason does she have to want to run away?" he asked of him, brows raised as he looked the other in the eye, "We give her a good life, why wouldn't she come back."

Seeing the logic, Francis' stiffened visage relaxed somewhat. "Oh, I do not know," he pressed his lips together and crouched down to give her a stroke, "She is just so small and precious."

Queenie gave a trilling mew in response to the compliment, seeming rather flattered, and rubbed her cheeks on the larger being's hand.

Breaking into a smile, Francis obliged with more affection. "I know, I simply do not know what I would do without you, mon petit ange," he doted on her.

The scene coaxing a warmth to pool in Arthur's chest as he looked on, he was resolute to prove to Francis that nothing bad would come it. "Come on, just for a few minutes. To see how she likes it."

A strained breath blowing from his nose, Francis looked from the fluffy body that brushed against his ankles to his significant other.

"Alright," he relented, "You are right, we should try it."

With a smile of encouragement, Arthur stepped forward and scooped Queenie into his arms in order to prevent her from bolting out of the door beyond their control. The couple made their way to the back porch, where Francis laid a hand on the handle and paused to subtly gesture a brow at the who gave a slight nod and shifted the excitable animal he held. Pushing down on the handle and letting the door swing open onto the sharp winter noon, the less certain of the two stepped aside to allow Arthur to place Queenie down on the threshold.

Her paws scrabbled frantically in the air before she touched the ground, however, paused once she was free. Somewhat gingerly, she approached the open doorway, wide, round eyes staring in wonder at the world exposed to her. She sniffed at the doorframe, taking in the fresh breeze that swept into the hallway, and only once thoroughly inspected did she venture to stretch a paw over it. One furry limb that dared to tap at the cement step on the other side of the barrier was placed down, followed by another, just as when she had first been brought home.

Both men stood at either side of the doorway, watching with varying degrees of stress as she cautiously slunk out into the open and, again, stopped on the outer step. The stinging wind blew her fur the wrong way and her whiskers trembled, but the small taste of freedom propelled her forward. Without hesitation, she hopped down from the step and was roaming amongst the trimmed grass as though she were ruler of the suburban plain. Her pink nose low to the ground as she scoped out her kingdom, she zigzagged across the lawn, following whatever scent caught her interest, her head darting up as pigeons flew overhead with a robust flutter.

"Ah, no no no, not that," Francis lurched forward as she approached some of the sharp-edged tools Arthur had left by the barren flowerbeds but was held back by a soft touch to the forearm.

"Will you calm down, Francis, she's not going to impale herself," Arthur steadied him, "Let her enjoy herself."

Retreating back to the doorway, Francis hugged his arms to his body as he craned his neck, watching the tiny explorer intently. She trotted to and fro, taking a moment to bat at a leaf then continued in her expedition until something new caught her shining eye.

Sliding to the floor against the doorframe, Arthur sat with his legs held against his chest resting his chin atop a knee as he observed. The adventurer's spirit was something he admired, and he could only imagine what the world was to such a little creature. Hills were mountains, puddles were lakes, bushes were jungles. The freshly trimmed grass reached halfway up her stumpy legs as the grasslands of Africa would dwarf the lioness, though the petit hunter was unperturbed, growing bolder with each stride. Rather too bold, apparently, as Queenie had made her way over to the fence which bordered her domain and began looking for a way to scale it.

"Alright, I think that is enough for one day," Francis could contain himself no longer and sprung from the ledge to capture the rogue.

Arthur didn't stop him this time, as he dashed across the garden and brought Queenie squirming with him. Shuffling aside so that the other could close the door, Arthur chuckled at his partner's excessive mothering of the animal that complained loudly as she was placed back in the hallway.

"I know, my darling, maybe next time," he muttered to her, giving her a scratch behind her folded ear.

"We will see," Francis asserted in return, to which Arthur only smiled and shook his head.

He was adamant, however, that she wouldn't remain a prisoner in the house any longer and when Francis left for work on Monday, while he worked in the garden, Arthur left the back door open so as she might wander back and forth at her leisure. He kept a watchful eye though, in case she attempted a daring escape over the fence, knowing Francis would have a fit if he let her too far out of his sight. But she seemed quite happy within the confines of the garden, chewing at frosty blades of grass and chasing after soggy twigs to her hearts content.

Watching her amusedly and working over the solid earth at intervals, Arthur wiled away the time until Wednesday came. With something to look forward to, things were less tedious. It was the stagnation, he found, that brought on the darker moods. The boredom, nihilism and melancholy were all but symptoms of the larger issue of life itself. A life that, at times, had truly seemed worthless, most of all to the man who it belonged to, as although he occupied it, he had made no use of it. Simply inhabiting a body with a heart that beat and lungs that breathed, but a brain that wouldn't work, that tried to oust him.

He found himself thinking over it every now and then, the way things had been. A thought would present itself which he would be helpless to holding back then he would come back to himself several minutes later, frozen in the middle of whatever he had been doing and staring blankly into space. It was a moment such as this in which Francis caught him.

"What?" he blinked back to himself as the sound of his other half's voice barely registered in his ear.

Francis breathed a laugh. "Sometimes you are a million miles away, lapin," he tutted lightly and repeated himself, "I said are you excited for tomorrow?"

"Oh," Arthur reacted, "Yes, I'm looking forward to it."

"Nervous?" Francis enquired; one slim brow quirked.

Considering it, Arthur shrugged slightly. "Maybe a little," he confessed, "It's been a long time since I did something like this, I only hope I remember how it all works."

"But you will do just fine," the elder of the two assured him, "Better, even."

Smiling his thanks at the other's faith in him, Arthur flitted from excitement to jittering uncertainty too quickly to tell one from the other and it took him some hours to get to sleep. He woke to the sound of his phone alarm and struggled slightly to part his eyelids. Hazy sunrise filtered in through the dark of night, and really Arthur didn't need to wake quite so early, but he had much rather be alert and prepared in advance rather than risk a bad first impression.

He left with enough time to take a gentle ramble all the way there and still be ten minutes early, as he had become quite adept at judging how long the walk took. It seemed an age since he had last taken that early morning walk, dread dragging him down all the way, as though it were the memory of a previous lifetime. Bathed in the soft glow of a new year and a new frame of mind, he trailed the same roads, past the same fences and front gardens, all of which seemed to have gained a new sense of life. The first green shoots of the year poked their heads from their earthy beds, sturdy though small and brave enough to face the frosty mornings that had yet to grow more mellow.

Arthur had always loved the flowers of early spring the best. The defiant image of the delicate snowdrop, white and innocent as a Victorian bride, pleased him just as innocently. Proof that even in the bleakest of times, there was still hope for the weak. His mother, he recalled on surveying the bare earth which surrounded the burgeoning shoots, had favoured the flowers of later spring; the blossoms that cushioned the branches and the tulips which bloomed with more caution. However, Arthur found their existence a pity. Such beautiful living things shouldn't be born only to pass on in such a short time.

But the fleeting nature of their brief and inanimate lives was why she had treasured them so dearly, he supposed. She would often soliloquise on making the most of things that weren't made to last and were not flowers the epitome of such a sentiment. And so, Arthur took a moment to pause before turning the corner onto the main road, by the last garden on the block, to memorise the sight of the tiny green quills that dared emerge and to savour them before they returned to the earth from which they drew life.

Solitude accompanied him most of the way, as it was past the commuting hour and the streets down which he walked led away from the town centre. Only the sound of birdsong and his own footsteps let the air know that things still breathed and moved outside, though he hurried to change this, the cold nibbling at his ears with sharpened teeth. As he had predicted, he came to the doorway with a little less than ten minutes to spare and pushed open the door, going through to find his new boss. The thought felt strange to him, but he put it from his head as he saw said man pass by the doorway that led to the back rooms.

"Good morning," he called out to grab his attention, as apparently the other was still oblivious of his presence.

"Good morning, Arthur," he supposed was meant to be a congenial greeting in return, however, the tone was too plain to convey any emotion whether pleasant or not. "I'm glad you are here early, please come to my office."

Arthur saw his narrow form dart the other way past the door without waiting to be followed and so went down the corridor after him. Entering the back office, now cleared of cardboard boxes, he found Basch producing a small stack of papers from a draw.

"Just some documents to sign," he spread them out on the desk facing Arthur and placed a pen alongside them, "You may take a moment to read them if you would like, but I assure you they are only standard forms."

"No, that's alright," Arthur declined, trusting in his employer's business proficiency.

Scanning them quickly as the other stood at the other side of the desk, overseeing the simple task, he scribbled his signature where the dotted line indicated and slid the papers back over the desk. Basch took them up, tapped them on the desk to level them and surveyed the pages before nodding.

"Very good," he approved, tucking them into the draw from which they had come and stepping from behind the desk, "Come with me."

Arthur did as instructed, and the two of them headed out to the shop floor where Basch went to flip the hanging sign on the door to 'Open'.

"You have worked a register before," he stated rather than asked, to which Arthur replied in the affirmative, "Then I can trust you out here alone."

"I should think so," Arthur couldn't help but smile slightly at his curtness, though his only reply was another nod as Basch wrote out a note for him.

"This is everything you should need, please keep it out of sight or better yet memorise it so that it can be gotten rid of," he held out the scrap of paper with several codes and combinations on it. "If you don't know how to do something, come and ask me. I would rather you asked than did something wrong."

"Right," Arthur took in his strict instructions and with them said, Basch retreated back to his office.

Though perhaps a little bristly, Arthur could see himself getting on with the owner. He much preferred a boss that left him to his own devices to one who micromanaged every aspect of their business.

Alone, he went and stood behind the register and started fiddling with it a little, seeing whether he actually remembered what to do. To his relief he found that, although slightly rusty, the clank of the old machine brought back some kind of muscle memory and he didn't even need to look down to perform the right actions. He did find it slightly miserable that he appeared to have such talent for something so trivial, but it made his job easier so he wouldn't complain. With that, the only thing left to do was to wait for someone to enter.

This took some time however, as the morning's tranquillity remained unbroken but for the occasional growl of an engine around the corner of the street. The pale-yellow beams that threw themselves upon the hardwood floor turned a truer white as their source raised further overhead, having reached its peak before anyone dared disturb the stillness. This suited Arthur quite nicely, though, as it gave him time to familiarise himself with his surroundings.

Perusing the short rows of bookshelves, running his fingertips absentmindedly along the spines as he went, he studied their arrangement. They had been organised simply, by subject then alphabetised, and revealed the store's proprietor to be of the most meticulous mind. Not a speck of dust lay out of place on the shelves, and he was sure he was expected to keep it this way, not that this bothered him. If there was a way that his employer preferred things to be done and no way in particular he would rather do them, he had no qualms with doing as he was asked.

It was during his browsing that someone finally poked their head around the doorway, an older woman who asked if they were open and smiled sweetly when she was told they were. Feeling he should offer to help, Arthur did so but was assured she could manage as she hobbled back to the fantasy section. Several minutes later she came to the counter with a small stack of books, the top of which Arthur recognised. Commenting on this, the woman brightened all over and seemed much obliged for a bit of conversation.

"It's for my granddaughter," she told him, opening up to a short history of her family's reading habits and how people just didn't seem to appreciate the value of a book anymore.

Arthur was inclined to agree, and happily continued the conversation until another customer came in and his new acquaintance left him. After serving the second person, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye and Basch emerged from his hiding place to enquire how things were going. His face seemed to express a mild feeling of relief when Arthur told him they had seen some business despite the fact it must have been the quietest opening day known to man.

"You can go on break, if you would like," he offered when he saw the store emptied of life once more, "You have half an hour."

Although not hungry, Arthur thought he could do with some tea and decided to check out the tiny kitchen tucked away in the very back of the shop. He hadn't noticed it on his first visit and found, on entering, that there wasn't much of note. While immaculately clean, the tiny galley style room was timeworn, the linoleum surfaces cracked and the small window at the back letting in the cold through the flaking seal. This, Arthur didn't mind, but on finding the tea container empty, he resolved to head next door instead.

Walking the one building stretch from the book store to the café, he ordered himself a drink to take back to the register where he spent a while on his phone, replying to the multiple texts he had received from Francis to tell him how things were going. And so, the day was a placid one, spent serving the intermittent customer and reading whatever lay nearby when there weren't any, which was a majority of the time. Even as the light faded, simmering down to a subdued orange, the shop held the same gentle warmth, an airiness that eased the spirits. At three on the dot, Basch came to relieve him of his duties and he left with an excitement to be back that carried through to the morning.

Word must have spread that the long-awaited opening had come as Arthur was kept busier on his second day than on his first, though not to the extent that he was overwhelmed. A steady stream came to replace the customers that he was able to help quickly, and the store was never without clientele for long. In the brief interims he'd restock the shelves from the box left out for him by his elusive boss or stand behind the counter, watching the clouds and the people passing by. A fairly boring story to tell his other half when they sat at the table together. At least Arthur thought so, as he completely overlooked the expression his partner held, chin in hand and gaze besotted as he listened, enraptured by the simple bliss of his tales.

Even as they carried the conversation to bed with them, talking into the night as they had done when they were younger and one another's company was still a fresh novelty, even as Arthur gazed back in the same, smitten manner, he couldn't have guessed at how thoroughly he was being adored. Far later into the night than was appropriate, they lay in the dark, facing one another though they could just barely make out the other's shadowed features, close enough that they could feel one another's warm breath when they laughed. And under that cover of darkness, once the conversation had petered out, both remained awake and stealing quick glimpses of one another, the brief parting of unconsciousness too great a distance for either one to bear too long.

By his third day, the new routine had become just that, his repeated actions bringing with them a warm familiarity rather than the dull, numbing cold of monotony. He walked the same route which his steps had surely worn groves into by that point and came through the door to catch Basch straying from his natural habitat of the back office. They exchanged greetings; Arthur's cheery good morning being returned by the other's customarily bland yet polite reply before he slipped away into the back hall.

Knowing this to be a sign that the shop floor was now his domain until further notice, Arthur stepped behind the counter, placing both hands down on the worn, wooden surface to lean upon it. He breathed in the musty quiet of the place, shifting his weight and watching the dust float through the slanted beams of light. Shadows played across the floorboards through the shelves, the outlines of the books appearing like darkened mountain ranges on the floor, and with the rate at which the day sped, Arthur was almost convinced he could see their peaks crawling before his eyes.

They were soon smothered, however, eaten up by the same darkness that swallowed the sun as a smattering of rain beat against the window. Diverting his attention to the outside, he watched the world drip from the comfort of his station and found himself smiling. By some impulse, his eyes fell closed and he drew a breath inward to the delight of all his senses. With the scent of aged literature, the chorus of gentle tapping, the feel of craggy wood at his fingertips and that of a body, alive and contented, in which he lived.

"You can go to lunch now, Arthur," Basch's voice interrupted as he looked in from the hall.

Eyes snapping open, Arthur glanced over his shoulder. "Oh, right, thanks," he shot back, though the other had already retreated, lest he be exposed a minute too long.

The weather failed to turn Arthur off from his usual habit, and with his coat held over his head he skipped from one store to the next where the manager, who had come to recognise him, moved invitingly over to the register.

"Tea?" she pre-empted the same order he had given the past two days running before Arthur had even approached the register.

He confirmed as he made his way over and stood by the counter looking back where he had come in at the torrent lashing the street. Placing a take-away cup on the countertop, the store manager made some vague comment about the miserable dankness, to which Arthur only hummed, distracted by his own pleasant mood.

Paying with the loose change in his pocket, he took his drink and was about to make the dash back to the next building but decided against it. The café was empty, but for an elderly couple sat in the corner, yet held an air of well-worn habitation. It was a strange feeling to be there, Arthur realised as he instinctually headed for the table for two by the window. The same feeling he had always experienced when going to parent teacher meetings for his brothers, going back to his old school with a new purpose, as though he had stumbled through to an alternate reality where he was the only one that realised things were slightly altered.

He took his seat, remembering the last time he had sat in it that his feet barely reached the floor, and looked about himself. There were minor changes from how he remembered it, the walls had been painted a new shade of pastel and the pictures hung on them were probably different, though he couldn't quite recall. His memories of the place, though vivid, were not focused on the décor, more the other person who he had shared those times with. If he closed his eyes again, he was sure she would materialise in the chair opposite him, but only for as long as he wasn't looking, and so for that reason he wouldn't.

Instead he rested his cheek in his hand and resumed his observance of the rain. He recalled once asking his mother what she thought heaven to be like and she had replied with the expected reverie. The clouds were like pillows, the stars were close enough to touch and that the rain fell warm and the colour of diamonds. Arthur, still young enough to hold those storybook depictions as factual, had argued quite indignantly that it couldn't rain in heaven, explaining, when asked why, that it was above the clouds and that rain came from the clouds and so it was impossible. Seemingly surprised by the logical, if incorrect, answer, his mother had only laughed and agreed to conclude that it didn't rain in heaven after all. And so, Arthur gazed out upon the dreary beauty of the mortal plain and smiled as he had much rather live in the real world anyway.

Sipping his tea while the window fogged over from the warmth of his body, he was happy to pass the short half hour in silence and solitude before returning to much of the same. It appeared the weather frightened off much of their business, though still the odd, soggy peruser passed through, their footsteps soaking into the cracks of the floor. In all honesty, Arthur wasn't sure how Basch intended to keep such a slow business running. Perhaps that was why he sat so resolutely at his desk all day, his calculator the only company he needed.

Whatever he was up to in there, Arthur didn't know and wasn't all that interested in. It wasn't his place to worry over spreadsheets and budgeting anymore, to hunch over those meaningless numbers with his head in his hands and his brow sweating as he tried to figure out what he was supposed to do. Happiness ran through him at the thought, at the acknowledgment that what he had in that very moment was permanent as, while he had adjusted to his new life, it still very much felt as though it were an interim of sorts. Like he would wake up the next day and go back to normal. He had yet to fully adapt to what was the new normal.

The worst of the rain had migrated to the north by the time three o'clock rolled around, and Arthur was about to relinquish his station in search of his superior when said man beat him to it. Basch appeared from the doorway carrying a cardboard box which he placed on the counter.

"This is the rejects box," he stated, "Sometimes we get stock that is too damaged to resell, but I hate to waste anything. I thought, perhaps, you would find something of interest for yourself."

Eagerly peering in, a smile came to the other's lips. "You're sure?" he asked, already rifling through it with childish glee.

Basch assured him with a vague gesture, pausing a few seconds before speaking in his monotonous way. "You have done well this week. I am very happy to have you with me."

His face and tone hardly reflected the sentiment, however, by all accounts he was a man that spoke his mind truthfully, and so Arthur found himself rather flattered by the compliment.

"Thank you," his response came out with some surprise, not having expected the kind words as he simply didn't think the other to be in the habit of giving them out, "I'm very happy to be here."

Basch nodded, as though approving of their mutually beneficial relationship, and looked to his watch. "I will see you on Tuesday," he said by way of goodbye, and left Arthur to see himself out.

Finding himself quite endeared to the man, Arthur had to laugh a little at his strange mannerisms and went back to probing through the cardboard treasure chest he had acquired. Though much of it had no appeal to him, as the bulk of its contents seemed to be ratty looking romance novellas, there were two or three titles that stood out, which he stuffed into his bag.

Throwing on his coat, he headed out the door, not bothering with an unnecessary goodbye, and strolled down the street. He had a busy evening ahead of him, not least because of the get together he had planned. The week prior he had booked an appointment with Tino for that evening which was still more than an hour away. Thinking how he might kill the time as he reached the curb, he noted that there was still a good deal of sunlight left in the afternoon. Despite the dreary midsection of the day, it seemed the sun had decided it would deign an appearance, as it shone bright and low behind a veil of cloud.

He directed his gaze skyward to observe its perfect circle, shielded from its full force by the curtain drawn over it. It seemed wasteful of his time and pleasant weather to go all the way home only to come back out again and so he would have to find some way to amuse himself in the outside world. He supposed he could drop in at some café to start on one of his new books, but he just didn't feel like it. This left him stood aimlessly on the curb, waiting to be rained on.

He could feel it in the air, a lingering wetness that threatened to break out once more, though he knew not from which direction it was invading. Therefore, it didn't make much difference in which direction he headed. He could remember many such grey days on the very street on which he stood, alongside the woman his thoughts had turned to frequently that day. As the urge to go to her rose in him, he did not try to quash it, allowing his body to turn in the direction of the spire that was barely visible some ways off.

Several times over the course of the journey, it seemed the sky almost betrayed him, cold specks escaping from the cushiony folds to dapple the pavement, though nothing substantial enough to make Arthur turn back. The ramshackle roof of the church building revealed itself from behind the rooves of houses as he approached the hill, and he was soon up the side path and through the wailing gate. Pausing briefly the other side of it, he breathed in the sweetness of the earth, unsettled by rain, and the musty vapour that came from the dampened and crumbling rock walls.

Disturbing the collected droplets that weighed down the grass as he walked slowly amongst the headstones, Arthur considered the tranquillity that had followed him throughout the day. True tranquillity, not the leisure of a morning alone in his office, nor the loneliness of a person without acquaintances, but peace that came from inside of him. A deep and genuine contentment owing to the knowledge that he was alright, that he could manage, that the next day would come and he could wake up to enjoy it.

His thoughts remained semi lost on himself even as he knelt in the wet grass before the stone he had come to visit, and his hands worked absently to pluck up the intruding weeds. Softly, through the hedges that surrounded the sacred ground, a cool, dank breeze came to tousle his hair and bring him back to his surroundings. He looked to the polished surface. It was no different from the last time he had seen it, but his feelings weren't the same. Often, he had thought of that place as an entity outside of time. Nothing changed or aged; death was finality.

In a way, he had been right. The place was stagnant, but only because he brought that stagnation with him. It was himself who remained stuck, fixed, unchanging and unaging, because he would not allow himself to. The grief and the grievances he held weighed on him so heavily he was incapable of moving, and it was only in letting these things go that he regained the agency of freedom. Nothing could escape time's slow, steady march. One day his own movement would slow to a stop, his years would turn to seconds and time itself would overtake him and leave him behind, to lie beneath the earth alongside those he loved. But he had much rather that than to stand still and let life stretch out ahead of him without being part of it.

Again, his mind refocused to the slab of grey before him and he reached out to touch it, his roughened fingertips sliding over the smooth surface. The sigh that left him blew away on the same wind that carried to him the sound of birdcall. A magpie, he believed, or two of them in conversation. He couldn't be sure. Their hoarse rasps were distorted by the echo of the unoccupied streets. A flurry of feathers directly above prompted him to glance up, but he just missed the two, sleek forms that soared overhead.

He stayed there a long time, knelt in the unkempt grass with the rainwater soaking through the knees of his jeans. As he continued to uproot the straggly vines which had sprung up at the foot of the grave, he noted a bunch of flowers left there. A random mix of blooms which had obviously been poached from some unsuspecting flower bed lay as an unknown offering. Arthur frowned down at them in confusion and mild irritation. He knew his brothers knew their mother would have been appalled by such a careless act, but he could think of no one else.

That is until he considered how long the flowers appeared to have been there, and who else he had seen within that time frame. His frown melted away, warmed by the tenderness of the gesture he realised had been a well-meaning attempt from Alistair. He smiled, even, at the thought of him, and was reminded of his promise to keep in touch. He would call him the next day, he made a firm, mental note, just to see how he was doing. They would both like that.

As he sat turning the flowers over in his hands, their limp heads like damp tissue paper, all the colour spilt out of them, the fine mist that hovered in the air increased to a drizzle and Arthur found himself considerably damp before he reacted to this. Laying down the flowers, he rested a palm gently atop the granite arch, his cold stiffened hands curling around the edge of the frigid stone, frostbitten at the touch. He felt the sting of it run up his arm, carried along his veins like cool poison in the blood, yet still he leant in to press his lips against it. Only for a second, though long enough for the venom to reach his heart.

He pulled away as it pained him, brow creasing as he raised his fingers to his lips. The cold stained them, prickled over them like a needle jabbing into them a hundred times over, marking them, and somewhere in the depths of himself, Arthur knew he would be marked for life. Grief would forever scar his heart as her absence would forever scar his life, as that potential for misery would forever be a grey smear over his mind. A shadow passed over the grounds as the clouds above swelled, the fine gossamer which concealed the last rays of the evening having turned to clusters of black, foreboding pearls. Steadily, the rain continued to throw itself from their folds, neither increasing nor letting up as darkness was draped over the world.

However, as suddenly as it had occurred, before Arthur even had time to raise his head and disparage over it, it was lifted again, and the world was set ablaze. The sun must have grazed the horizon on its way down, Arthur thought, its flames catching onto some shrub to cast the whole scene in the brightest orange. From there it had spread to envelope everything within sight, flickering in the reflection of windowpanes, across the slick church roof, in the rain that still fell so that it glittered as though the sky dropped yellow diamonds, as though each drop encapsulated a tiny ball of sunlight within. They stuck to his jacket and glistened as he held his arm up to the light, examining them as they quivered and rolled away.

As unexpectedly breath taking as it may have been, Arthur could feel the sparkling dampness beginning to soak through and it showed no signs of letting up, therefore he said one last goodbye to the dripping stone and turned away. The fiery horizon behind him, his shadow stretched long and dark as it passed through the clanking gate and down the path. It blended with the darkened streets; the fantastic glow blocked out by the rows upon rows of peaceful suburbia and was soon gone altogether. Looking back somewhat mournfully over his shoulder as he made his way down the path to the therapist's office, Arthur saddened at the thought of having missed it, but quickly cheered again at the thought of there being another the next day.

It was only once inside that he realised he had been shivering, the heavenly warmth that spilled over his skin relieving him of the chill that chattered his teeth and made his hands raw red. He slipped off his coat and rubbed them together as he came into the foyer where he noticed Tino stood by the front desk.

"Ah, Arthur, I am glad to see you," his entrance caught the other's attention immediately, "I was beginning to worry you weren't coming."

Arthur glanced to the clock at the comment and noticed he was several minutes late.

"Sorry, I got a little distracted," he apologised as Tino smiled at him.

"Why don't you come in and tell me about it," he gestured his head towards his office and led the way, Arthur following.

He took his seat as Tino went over to his desk, pulling his seldom worn glasses out of one of the draws as he muttered quietly to himself. Contrary to most people, the accessory made him look younger, Arthur considered, making his large, bright eyes even larger and brighter. They shone behind their lenses as Tino made his way over to the sofas and sat opposite what he had to admit was one of his favourite clients.

"It feels like a long time since I was here last," Arthur commented offhandedly, casting his eyes over the room as he rested his cheek on his fist.

"It is just short of a week, if I remember correctly?" the other recounted, checking the notes in his pad as he shuffled back in his seat.

Arthur hummed, attention drifting to the window to see a pair of magpies hopping about the patch of greenery just outside. Perhaps the same ones from earlier, he thought. They had followed him. Their oil slicked wings reflected the glow of the streetlamps as they strutted back and forth, pecking at one another with their elegant beaks.

"Ah, yes. Any luck with your application," Tino recalled the uncertain note on which they had left the discussion.

Drawing his focus from the window, Arthur gave it over willingly to the conversation. "I got the job; I've actually been working there since Wednesday."

Eager to dive deeper into this line of discourse, Tino asked what Arthur had been expecting him to ask and listened intently as he divulged his experiences, waiting until he stopped of his own accord.

"And Francis?" he questioned as Arthur reached his conclusion, "You were worried about his reaction."

"I didn't have any reason to be," Arthur thought aloud, "Francis is…happy. Happier than I've seen him in a while."

The thought brought with it some remorse as the fact that this was Arthur's own fault was undeniable.

"So, it's been beneficial to you both?" Tino continued.

"I'd say so," Arthur spoke through a sigh, wishing not to fall into the trap of self-reproach.

The other nodded, smiling encouragement. "Good, good," he hummed, "And I see you have kept up with the gardening in your free time."

Tino chuckled lightly as he motioned his head to the muddied knees of Arthur's trousers. Glancing down at them himself, Arthur breathed a laugh.

"Oh, no, I was actually just up at the graveyard," he corrected without thinking.

However, the throwaway mention caught the other's attention with a firm grip.

"What made you go there?"

Arthur realised he should have known better than to bring up something like that without considering the affect it would have. He looked over to Tino's inquiring gaze with an easy expression.

"I'd just been thinking about my mum a lot today," he shrugged.

"For any particular reason?" the other pressed, leaning in.

"The street where I work," he knew the reason and didn't mind sharing it, "We used to go there a lot together. It brings back memories, but good ones."

Tino bobbed his head once more, gaze levelled at his client as he clearly thought something over. Then, with a sharp inhale, he leant back in his seat, knitting his hands over his knee.

"Did you happen to catch the sunset?" he asked quite randomly.

"I did," Arthur thought of the bejewelled grass and the smell of dampened stone, such a brief moment so packed with life, "it was quite something."

From the sound of the quiet streets, the rain still fell stubbornly. However, stripped of its earlier beauty it felt heavier, more dismal, merely ordinary. Raising a hand to his lip, Arthur bit at the skin of his index finger as he looked out at it, drenching the world it had blessed with light not an hour ago. Though the flesh of his lips was warm against his fingertip, they tingled.

"Can I ask you a question?" he prefaced the thought that had come to his mind.

Tino cocked his head and raised one eyebrow, ready to receive.

"How long do people usually do this for?"

A second fair brow rose to meet its partner as Tino considered the question and how best to answer it.

"For as long as they feel they need to," came the vague response. "Why? You are not thinking of leaving me, I hope."

He chuckled gently at his own comment and Arthur cracked a smile but remained sober.

"No, I…hadn't even thought about it until just now," he confessed.

Tino guessed at what his patient was internally deliberating, and he remained quiet a few moments, studying him, his green eyes darting from side to side.

"It varies quite wildly from person to person. Some come for a couple of months, some for years, decades even," he sighed, "Some I only see once and then they disappear."

Arthur watched him as he spoke. He found something very calming in his dulcet cadence.

"It can be unfortunate, but," Tino removed his glasses, and rubbed the bridge of his nose, "it is their choice. People must be able to make the judgement for themselves."

"They have to know when they're…better?" Arthur's forehead creased, uncertainty weighing on his chest.

A pause hung over the room, one of reluctance. Tino's lilac gaze dropped to his lap as he placed his glasses to the side and rose his joined hands to his face, touching the tip of his nose to them.

"They have to know when they can manage by themselves," the therapist worded carefully, "When they can get by without my help, there is no need for therapy anymore."

Arthur could read into the subtext; he could see the hint in his eyes.

"So, it never really goes away then," his voice came out hollow, "No one is ever completely cured."

Again, the elder of them hesitated. He drew in a breath and released it.

"In my opinion, if you will allow me to share it…no." He looked to his client apologetically and saw the expression of resigned acceptance he had expected. "Or not exactly, I should say," he partially redacted, squinting and stopping himself to reword his thoughts. "To me, my job is about helping people identify the problem and figuring out why it is there. Then we can work out how it should be dealt with. Some can be mostly resolved and others…will always be an ongoing process."

Arthur wasn't deluded, he had known all along that there was no answer to it. No one thing that could just make it go away or keep it locked up somewhere he wouldn't have to deal with it. That was the nature of mental illness. All he could do, like Tino said, was learn to handle it better. It was the harsh reality of things, just the way that life worked.

But he was no stranger to being shit on by the powers that be, and if the only thing he could do was manage then that was what he would do. A month ago, the idea of if would have seemed a death sentence, doomed to scrape by and scrounge off of the meagre slivers of joy left by some teasing deity, but now he smiled.

Amidst his wading through the filth and sludge of his pitiful life, after months, years of struggling and slipping further in, half drowned and ready to sink away, he had found stable footing. The slimmest of paths that he walked with painful care, heart racing as it led him so gradually upwards. Holding his breath at each wobble, sometimes clinging to the edge of it by the tips of his fingers, he was determined not to falter from its rout. In his mind he could see it, stretching as far as his imagination. Some parts seemed clear, shining, welcoming, others obscured and murky. Some were sloping downward, and others shot up through the clouds. Any number of perilous turns endangered the way, but the ground was solid, dependable, always there should he need to stop or find his way back to it. There for his use, and he wouldn't waste it.

"Of course, you're under no obligation to stay with me. As I said, it is up to your judgement," Tino shrugged one shoulder, eyes fixed on his patient, "But I think you've made a lot of progress and I would hate to see that stunted."

Arthur cleared his throat as he took in a breath and came back to himself. "No, I wasn't thinking about anything like that," he quirked a smile, "It was just a question."

He had come too far to just give up again.

"Well, I'm glad," Tino returned the expression, having to restrain it slightly as he thought of just how far his client had come.

The hour felt no longer than their usual sessions did, and Arthur found that he preferred it. There was less pressure to express everything within a certain time frame, he could take as long as he needed to explain himself fully and think about what he was saying. He understood the logic behind Tino's technique, though. It's easier to squeeze the truth from someone in a tenser situation and, as manipulative as it may have sounded, it was what Arthur had needed. He trusted Tino with his life, quite literally, and whatever he thought best, Arthur was willing to accept. As they parted at the doorway, Arthur thought for a moment of inviting him to their get together but, thinking he would probably be denied out of professional restrictions, said nothing.

The way home was wet but short and once inside he looked back through the kitchen window at the droplets that danced under the light of the streetlamps like fairies. He fed Queenie a little earlier than usual so that she might stop trying to trip him over and went to make some tea, opening the fridge to find they were out of milk. Luckily, Francis wasn't yet home and so he texted his other half to see if he could retrieve some on his way home. As it happened, he was just leaving his office and said he would be about an hour, a time in which Arthur had nothing in particular to do.

He sat himself down on the sofa, a poof of new fabric smell puffing into the air as he did. The cushions were still hard from a lack of use and, he thanked the heavens, Francis had gotten rid of the decorative pillows he so despised and so he struggled somewhat to make himself comfortable. Eventually lying on his side, an arm under his head, he turned on the TV, the news flashing images on the screen, but his eyes wandered.

They fell to the carpet, so stained and faded he could hardly tell what colour it was supposed to be. That should be the next thing to go, he thought to himself, maybe a new carpet or wood flooring perhaps, with a rug to go under the coffee table. They could do with a new one of those too, as he thought about it. And curtains that matched the colour of the sofas. But he should let Francis decide on those things, really, he stopped himself from getting carried away. He did enjoy it, after all. Then again, perhaps he would enjoy the surprise, Arthur reconsidered, imagining the look on his lover's face.

The recollection of it after he had painted the living room that stormy day, the shocked delight it held, caused the edges of his lips to curl with fondness and his cheeks to pinken at the afterthought. Biting the inside of his lip, rolling it gently between his teeth, he shifted to lie on his back, staring at the ceiling. The sound of the rain outside grew louder, striking the window, and he thought of Francis out in it. He might have avoided it had he come home at his usual time, but he had told Arthur earlier that he may be late, which he was.

Not that Arthur minded, only that he worried. He had taken less than a week off at Christmas and had been working since. As much as he claimed he loved his work, and as much as Arthur trusted he would come to him if anything were wrong, he couldn't help but fret at least a little. That had been the beginnings of his own troubles, after all.

A trip: the idea sprung to mind and was just as quickly scrutinized by the more rational voices in his head. Where to? They couldn't afford to go far, or for long, for that matter. A week in the country was doable, the Cotswolds, the Lake District, maybe. Even Scotland, as he recalled Francis mentioning once before. But it didn't seem enough. Images of young, beautiful people on the beaches of the Caribbean played in his head as they did in adverts. The ones where couples skipped over the white sand and kissed at the table of their five star, waterfront restaurant, carefree and in love.

Although he knew it was all fake, he couldn't help but envy them, or the idea of them at least. Not so much for his own sake, but for the fact that he had never been able to give Francis that. If there was one person in the world that deserved all that, it was him, and yet there he was in reality, stuck on a crowded train in some dismal part of London, on his way home to a life that he was better than. He probably regretted the day he had refused his parents' pleas for him to return to France with them, he could have been in Paris, the Riviera, anywhere. Why he hadn't gone with them, Arthur would never understand. It made no sense and he was glad for that. Had he done what was logical, Arthur wouldn't have him anymore and he just couldn't imagine that. He didn't want to, and he thanked each star in the sky every night that they lay together that he didn't have to.

They could visit them, he thought, Francis' parents. Just for a weekend, or a long weekend. A week if Francis wanted to, a fortnight, a month. He just wanted to make him happy. The way he made Arthur happy.

Because, despite it all, Arthur knew there was nothing in life that he could want more than what he had already. Those actors on those adverts, playing at happy couples, should have envied him, he thought, and the wonderous mundanity that was his love. Talking in the night, kisses before work, bringing home milk. Each act was an affirmation that they were one another's, always.

"Bonsoir, mon amour," Francis sung as he crossed the threshold at the most opportune of moments, "et mon petit amour," he didn't forget Queenie, who had come out to greet him.

Practically leaping from his seat, Arthur rushed to him where he stood, coat barely off his shoulders, and kissed him. Heart pounding as he tried to convey his thoughts directly into the other's mind through their touch.

"I did not think you required it so desperately," Francis joked once they had parted, holding out the milk.

Laughing, mostly at himself, Arthur took it in return for another, less frenzied, kiss. "How was your day?" he asked, snapping back into real life and taking the milk into the kitchen.

"Tres bien, tres bien," Francis hung up his coat before coming through to join him, "What about yours? How was the shop today?"

"It was great," Arthur glanced over his shoulder as he took two mugs down from the cabinet, smiling in every facet of his face, "Slow day, but it went by so quickly."

The other hummed, coming in to lean against the radiator, warming the backs of his legs.

"You know, it's hard to believe that those two are siblings," the younger man kept chatting over the sound of the boiling kettle.

"Who?" Francis frowned lightly.

"Basch and Erika," he clarified, "they're so different. Then again, I suppose you could say the same thing about Matt and Al."

"Oui, I suppose," Francis agreed amusedly with his partner's musings as he rambled on to himself. He watched him as he spoke, his shoulders giving the occasional shrug, his head tilted at an angle as it did when he thought deeply over something. Francis smiled.

"Toni hasn't cancelled on us, has he?" Arthur turned around with the question, holding out Francis' coffee.

The older of the two shook his head, taking his drink. "Not that I have heard."

Arthur leant back against the counter, crossing one leg over the other where he stood. "I haven't heard from him since I invited him, is all. Thought he might have tried to get out of it," he spoke mostly to himself.

Francis hummed again, a meaningless sound that rumbled low in his chest as he came closer, eyes fixed on the absentminded expression of his lover.

"When is everyone arriving?" he put down his mug on the counter and placed a hand each side of his partner, leaning in to bury his face in the others warm neck, kissing it.

"Soon," Arthur smiled with eyebrows held aloft over his partner's shoulder, "Very soon, actually."

"Mm, and when are they leaving?" Francis' words blew hot against his skin as his lips pressed against it again.

The hair on his forearms standing on end, Arthur scrunched his shoulders up and snorted a laugh.

"Don't be filthy," he scolded, "What's all that for?"

"What was that for before?" Francis referred to his warm welcome, to which Arthur looked up at him with clear, smiling eyes and gestured a shoulder.

"I told you, I had a good day," was his only explanation.

Brows furrowing as he chuckled, Francis accepted his answer as whatever he planned on doing next was cut off by the doorbell. Ducking under one of the arms that still held him trapped, Arthur went to answer it but was detained, the larger man catching him around the waist and murmuring something close to his ear which made him redden and playfully slap the other on the thigh before squirming free.

"Alright, alright, you can all stop moping. The party may start now," Alfred gave the vacant living room leave to celebrate his arrival as he made his entrance, lugging two six-packs of cheap beer under his arm.

"My humble gratitude to you for your blessing," Arthur drawled, closing the door behind Matthew as he came through after his brother and hung up his coat.

"Where is everybody?" the brasher of the two turned around, pouting disappointedly that his audience were not there to receive him.

"They will be here soon, mon cher," Francis assured him.

"Uh, that better be Irish," Alfred raised an unimpressed brow at the mug in his hands.

The older man sent him an apologetic look as he took a sip.

Setting his load down on the coffee table, Alfred placed his hands on his hips authoritatively. "Well, this is my party and I want to see a beer in that hand in T-minus thirty minutes."

Scoffing at his brother's commands, Arthur shook his head and removed the beers to the kitchen where they wouldn't clutter their limited space.

"Come on, man, it's been so long since we all got together. I just want to have a good time," the younger man whined, puppy dog eyes at maximum capacity.

"Oh, I suppose I have some wine that I might be better rid of," Francis melted for them, humouring his surrogate brother with a simpering smile, "Lapin, perhaps you would be so good as to assist me?"

Arthur looked back at them and heaved a facetious sigh. "Go on then," he relented to excessive celebration as the others convened into the living room.

As he was already in the kitchen, he rummaged through the cupboard to find the old bottle Francis referred to, not intending on opening it until the others had arrived, and heard another body shuffle in to join him.

"Are you drinking, Matt?" he glanced over his shoulder at the younger twin who had wandered through in search of the cat.

"Maybe a couple, but nothing crazy," he found her tucked under the table on a dining chair and crouched to pet her, "I have an assignment to start on tomorrow."

"How's it been since you got back?" Arthur realised he hadn't had the chance to speak to Matthew much about university with all the focus having been on the more time consuming of the two twins.

"All good," was his mild reply as he pushed his glasses up his nose, "Just trying to stay organised and stuff, you know."

Arthur nodded, finally finding what he was looking for. He placed it down on the counter and turned to look at the other, knelt on the tiles, smiling sweetly at the animal who purred at his touch. There was something in him, Arthur thought, that was just so vulnerable.

"And how are you doing?" he asked, worry creeping into his tone and onto his face, "Are you alright with…everything?"

Matthew had looked over as he spoke, sensing his brother's concern from the first syllable.

"I'm fine," he projected a smile to prove it, one that Arthur doubted a little.

"I just wanted to remind you," he folded his arms, expression of solicitous care directed at his sibling, "that when he's gone, if you need for anything, anything at all, we'll be here."

"You make it sound like he's dying," Matthew snickered softly, and Arthur had to admit he was being slightly dramatic. "But I'm fine," the younger man repeated, "and I know. You always are."

Allowing the matter to be left there with an accepting tilt of the lips, Arthur gave his youngest sibling a gentle pat on the head as he passed by on his way to the living room where he could hear the other two chatting.

"Do you not think so?" Francis assumed his partner had been listening, directing the question at him as he entered.

"Hm?" Arthur looked over quizzically, moving up on the sofa to make room for Matthew and the smaller body he carried in his arms.

"The place finally has some character do you not think?" the older man held out an arm in reference to the room around them.

"Oh, right," Arthur conceded.

Hand dropping, Francis tutted with a roll of his eyes. "You could at least pretend to care," he poked jokingly.

Arthur only exhaled amusedly at his tsking and clucking, thinking if only he knew how much he cared.

"Hey, you think you could make one of those for us?" Alfred nodded at the picture that hung above the sofa on the back wall, his eyes fixed on those of the woman it depicted.

The rest of the room looked too as Alice hung over them like a saint.

"I would be happy to," Francis granted.

"I think I've got a couple of pictures I could send you, not many though. Actually, I don't know if they'll even be any good," Alfred second guessed himself, a light frown wrinkling his perfect brow.

"We'll look through the albums together, there has something in there," Arthur promised him, "Or you could just use the same one."

The younger man, his attention still set on the image of the ghostly woman amongst the blossoms, shook his head. "Nah, dude," he declined, "You should have this one for yourself."

Arthur's focus slipped from the canvas to his sibling, the look in those eyes plucking at the strings in his chest. Sometimes he forgot that he wasn't the only one who had lost her.

"Don't be ridiculous," he refused, "You can have whatever picture you like." The other turned to him with those eyes the colour of sadness but the embodiment of pure joy, the grief having elapsed from their shining surface within a blink. Like it had never been there at all. "Whatever makes you happy," he muttered to himself as the conversation trickled back in around him.

There was a knock at the door and as he was the least engaged Arthur rose to answer it. Gilbert and Eliza had arrived together, as was a surprise to no one, and denied it being anything other than a total coincidence, again, as was expected. Taking their arrival as his queue, Alfred popped the caps off the first round and forced a wine glass into Francis' hand, apparently ready for the festivities to begin proper. The two new arrivals seemed to be in the mood as well and with a look and a shrug, Arthur and Francis found themselves drawn in. Both had almost polished off their glasses by the time Antonio arrived, and Francis ushered him through excitedly.

"Attention, s'il vous plaît, mes amis," he stood before the group that sat around the coffee table in the living room, on sofas, the floor or on chairs brought in from other rooms, and wasted no time, "Someone here has something very important to say."

Arthur and Matthew both rolling their eyes at the older man's theatrics, Alfred only laughed and cleared his throat, allowing all attention to fall on him.

"Thank you for the introduction there, Francis," he chuckled as the other took his seat and sent over an encouraging grin, the rest of the room waiting expectantly. "So, you guys all know about my try outs and all that jazz," he didn't leave them hanging, eagerly imparting his news, looking from face to face. "Well, I just wanted to tell you all that I got a call from my coach the other week and I got a place on the team. I'm going to the US next year on the scholarship!"

The last face he looked to as the room around him erupted in celebration was that of his brother which beamed over at him, pride spilling from his expression.

"Way to go, pal!" Gilbert, who sat on the floor beside him, slapped him heartily on the back and shook him by the shoulders, "We knew you would do it!"

"Congratulations, congratulations, Alfie!" Eliza clasped his face and kissed him on both cheeks as the life was shaken out of him.

"Yeah, you deserve this, amigo," Toni contributed, raising his glass.

"Thanks, guys," Alfred basked in his much-deserved success, grinning his whole face over but adding earnestly, "And, hey, its because of all the support that I could do it, so really, thank you."

"Oh, please. Stop with the modesty," Elizabeta waved off the sentiment.

"Ja, you worked for this," Gilbert added with a firm nod which the rest of the audience seconded.

"But," Eliza raised a finger to pre-empt whatever Alfred had opened his mouth to say, "that doesn't mean you can get complacent. Don't let yourself slack off, try even harder. You should come to the gym with me, I'll train you up."

"He's training for football, Liz, not the military," Arthur came to his brother's defence, suffering flashbacks from his own trials.

A snicker ran through the party at which Arthur was shot quite the glare, as jovial as it was.

"We are all so proud of you, cheri," Francis clinked his glass against Toni's and a round of toasting commenced.

The sound of ringing crystal ware melded with that of overlapping voices as people began to chatter, all as one group at first that split off into separate exchanges before long. The main bulk was made up of the more expressive amongst them whilst Arthur, Matthew and Toni sat off to the side, engaging in more subdued discussion as Queenie switched between them, seeing who she could get the most attention from. Music played as background noise but was drowned out by the exuberance of the gathering, as was the rain that pattered intermittently outside.

"Alright, meine kameraden," some time later, Gilbert managed to speak over the general clamour as he rose to his feet, "I'm sorry to steal the spotlight from you, buddy, but Feli will kill me if I don't remember to do this." He rummaged in his jacket pocket a moment to produce several thick envelopes which he handed around. "You are all cordially invited," he gave a jesting bow and sat back down as they were opened.

"So soon!" Francis gasped as he read the wedding invitation, "Mon Dieu, how the months fly."

"Ah, you know Lud," Gilbert shrugged as he sipped his beer, "he saw a good deal on a venue and the whole thing was organized in a week."

Francis exhaled a whimsical sigh as his eyes drifted dreamily over the gilded lettering a second time. "Feli must be thrilled," he breathed.

"He can hardly contain himself," Toni chuckled.

Passing over their shared invitation to his partner, Francis shook his head in disbelief. "I simply cannot believe it! They cannot be married; they are only children!"

Arthur read over the date that was only a few short months away as Eliza agreed, unable to accept how quickly time passed.

"I know what you mean," her lips pressed into a line as she blew a laugh from her slim nose.

"Try not to look too depressed about it," Alfred teased, brows upheld amusedly at his former guardian who sat slumped forward, his thoughtful expression appearing mournful, "I'm sure your day will come."

"After I have watched the whole world walk down the aisle before me!" Francis exaggerated, gesturing towards Eliza and Gilbert who sat beside him, "These two will probably be exchanging vows before I am."

Painting a frown over her forehead as she scoffed, Eliza narrowed her eyes to send him a sidelong glance of derision. "As if," sarcasm saturated her voice and her eyes rolled so hard in her head that Gilbert mimicked the action at her expense, taking her by the forearm and pulling her forward to silence her with a swift kiss.

Eyes widening like two green planets as her face burned scarlet, she was silent only a few seconds before breaking into a tirade against the man who sat smirking. As the rest of the room watched with much, barely concealed, amusement, Arthur saw Francis leave the room to refill his glass and slipped out behind him. His footsteps hidden by the sound of heated, Hungarian ranting, he came close to his other half before he was caught.

"There is no need to check on me, Arthur," Francis turned around with a full glass of wine and a gentle simper, "You know I was only joking."

"Are you though?" Arthur countered sardonically, holding out his glass for Francis to top up, "You seemed thoroughly heartbroken to me."

Raising a hand to his forehead to feign a swoon, Francis expelled his most melodramatic sigh. "Always the bridesmaid, never the bride," he bemoaned, smiling as his other half snorted.

"Fine," Arthur levelled his gaze at the other, leaning against the counter, "If it means that much to you, let's just get married." He sipped at his wine with a provoking simper.

"Oh, charming," Francis barked a laugh and placed his glass down on the counter to fold his arms and look down the length of his nose at his jesting suitor, "Non, I will not. Not unless you do it properly."

Laughing once more as he shook his head, Arthur raised an eyebrow in his direction. Francis simply smiled in an innocently pestering manner, enjoying their game too much to relent, and pointedly turned his head to the side, still peaking back at the other from the corner of his eye. Heaving a vocal sigh, Arthur broke and chuckled quietly at the ridiculousness of their relationship.

"Francis Bonnefoy," he began, claiming the other's attention. Their eyes met, Francis' jokingly expecting expression softening Arthur's sarcasm into reality as his next words were spoken with more earnestness than he had intended. "You are the most wonderful man I've ever known, and I love you. Will you please marry me?"

Shock registered in the other's face, his playful smirk melting away as he turned to face his lover. A perplexed frown soon took over as he laughed, somewhat disbelieving, and squinted in uncertainty.

"You do not mean that," he denied, looking into the equally surprised eyes of his partner who remained quiet, "Do you?"

"I don't know…" Arthur's expression turned to one of caution as his pulse raced through his veins, his pounding heart telling him there was only one thing he wanted to hear, "Is the answer yes?"

Hopeful green eyes watched with unbearable uncertainty as the blue ones set in the face of the man he loved glossed over with tears.

"Oui," Francis choked, nodding frantically, "Yes, of course, yes."

Lurching forward to cling to the smaller man with a wet laugh, Arthur was left frigid with amazement at what had just happened.

"Y-yes?" he stuttered as Francis squeezed him, "You will?"

"Yes," Francis reiterated, pulling back to look into his beaming face, "Yes, amour, mon ange, j'taime."

"I love you too," Arthur returned, pulling his fiancée in to kiss him deeply, so that the tears that had begun to spill over dampened both their cheeks. "Why are you crying?" Arthur laughed through his own tears of happiness, "Stop it, stop crying."

He sniffed as they held one another close in the solitude of the kitchen, remaining out there longer than could be ignored, yet no one bothered them. Almost afraid that it would be forgotten if they left, they barely moved, barely breathed lest they frighten the vow away.

"Go on," Arthur parted them eventually, wiping his face dry with his sleeve, "You can tell them, I don't think I can do it."

Peering round the kitchen doorway into the living room where the party remained going strong, none the wiser, Francis shook his head. "No, we will wait. To let Alfred enjoy his night."

Arthur nodded and took in a breath. Looking up coyly at the other he let it go as both laughed and continued grinning to themselves. They re-entered at the same time, sitting back where they had been before without drawing too much attention to themselves and rejoined the merriment without mention of their absence.

Things continued as though he had never been gone, as though nothing had changed, although his heart still hammered as a reminder that what had just happened was real. He had to force down the smile that kept tugging at the corners of his mouth as he relaxed back into his chair, hiding his twisting expression behind his glass as he took a sip.

So focused on controlling himself, he overlooked the elation that his behind Matthew's glasses as the younger man leaned in close to his ear to whisper a knowing, "Congratulations."

Choking, Arthur looked at him in surprise, but the quiet boy only smiled a smile to say that their secret was safe with him. Returning the expression, Arthur put an arm around him for a hug, needing some outlet for his delight.

But it kept increasing steadily as the evening unfolded and more than once he had to excuse himself to the bathroom to see to the emotional overload that made him dizzy. However, no one seemed to notice how quiet he was, or if they did, they were too polite to spoil the secret he was carrying around. Either way, he sat back contentedly and watched the night play out before him. The pride etched into Alfred's face, the knowing glow in Matthew's, Eliza's elegant fingers laid softly over Gilbert's shoulder, Toni taking out the invitation every now and then to look over it with happy, gentle eyes, Queenie at his side.

He saw them all as one, all as individual, all as extensions of himself. He saw them lining the side of the path that laid out before him, walking atop the sludge that he tried so desperately to avoid. They propped him up when he grew weary of trudging, encouraged him when he found himself failing, pulled him up when the way was steep. They had always been there, he knew, he just hadn't seen because they were behind him pushing him on despite how hard he fought back. His gaze was a silent thank you to each of them and a solemn promise that he would repay them with his happiness.

And as he lay in bed wrapped around the man he was to spend the rest of his life with, his heart sung. It was his life and it wasn't perfect, but he would live it for every reason that existed.

---

Two goddamn years and four months later, it is finally over, and although I say that with relief, I say it too with a fair bit of sadness. Honestly, this has taken up so much of my life I don't really know what I'll do now that it's over. I was a teenager when I started this, for god's sake, and now I'm in my twenties. It spans two decades! And to think this was just meant to be a short bit of fun. If anyone ever tells you that you overcomplicate things too much, just point to this. There were times that I never thought I would get to the end of it, times I thought it would be better if I just gave it all up, but I didn't, and I couldn't be prouder. It's by no means perfect (I look back at that first chapter every now and then and good god do I cringe) but I like to think I improved over the course of this and that's the important thing.

But really (and I know this sounds sentimental) this story does mean a lot to me. As you can probably tell, this is based in part on some of my own life experiences. I won't go into detail but there are parts of this written when things weren't so great for me. Likewise, there are parts that make me smile or feel embarrassed or whatever, but I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I'm glad people related to this. Sad at the same time too (I don't like to think of people feeling sad after all) but maybe you can gain something from this. Not to preach at you, but there's always someone you can talk to, however beyond help you may feel you are. You just have to find them.

I've debated a lot over whether I should carry on writing on here or not and I'm still not totally decided, but I have a few ideas and I find this to be good writing practice. Plus, I obviously enjoy it (I wouldn't have spent more than two years of my life working on this if I didn't) so go ahead and follow my account (follow me as an author) if you enjoyed this and would like to see more.

And with that said, I would love to hear what you think about all this and your opinions are welcomed in the reviews. Tell me what's your favourite chapter, character, moment (or you least favourite if you want). Like it if you liked it and thank you so so so much to every one of you.