15 October, about seven o'clock at night

Of course Arthur only gave Francis a stupid pill of all things when he had complained of chest pain. Arthur just assumed that he must have eaten something a bit off at the restaurant they had gone to, and Francis had agreed.

"I'm cold," Francis had whined. His dilated pupils and ragged breathing would forever be imprinted into his memory.

"Don't be a baby. Here's your pill." He gave it to Francis a more roughly than he intended to and a wince wracked over his entire body.

Francis took the Advil gratefully and swallowed it. He frowned at the flavour, but other than that he seemed his usual self. Arthur left to go and find a blanket for Francis. He was rude to the man but he wasn't going to deny a sick person a blanket.

Once he found a blanket (the fluffy one that Arthur had claimed as his own and would only let Francis use on special circumstances, like now) he went back to their room and put the blanket on him. Francis had moved so that he was lying on his stomach with his knees under him. He looked as if he were bowing to some esoteric deity.

"You look like an idiot with your arse in the air like that," Arthur commented as he made sure the blanket was on Francis properly.

He had been left with nothing but to stand there. He had an inkling that Francis was a lot sicker than he was making himself out so be, and that worried Arthur. Francis had always been one to play out his illnesses to try and get the most he could out of people.

Arthur's hand rubbed circles in Francis' back. "There, there. You'll get better quick, you always do. And you don't want to be sick for our wedding do you?"

"No. Take the blanket off, I'm hot." There was a thin sheen of sweat on Francis' face and it had lost all of its colour.

Arthur took the blanket off of Francis and dumped it in a heap at the foot of their bed. His hand continued to rub circles on Francis' back.

"Tomorrow, I'll give Gilbert a ring and we can get one of those pies that Ludwig makes. I know you like them." Arthur was complete and utter crap at comforting a sick person. At least he would get one of Ludwig's sympathy pies in the morning for all his effort.

Francis then grunted and curled up even more on himself. "I don't like this," he said.

"I'm sure it will pass and you'll be right as rain in the morning. You've had this before." Though, when Francis had eaten something that hadn't agreed with him he had definitely not been this bad. Arthur's throat was tight and he felt like he shouldn't be able to breathe as easily as he was in that moment.

"Is there anything I can get for you? A glass of water? What about some plain toast, my nan always said that a piece of plain toast is the best thing for an upset stomach. Of course she also recommended butter for burns."

Francis shook his head imperceptibly, leaving Arthur at a total loss on what he should do next.

"I booked the hotel for the honeymoon." And thus, he reverted to his natural state of blabbering on in pure silence. "It's nice, a king size bed and a Jacuzzi bath. Gilbert insisted on helping me choose the best hotel and he told me that he had stayed there a few times himself."

Then Arthur had been unable to think of what to talk about next.

"Continue," Francis said.

"Er, well once we leave the wedding, I'm sure we'll both be smashed so I'll make sure that we have a taxi or something to take us to the hotel. Once we're there I want us to get the most expensive bottle of wine they have and then we'll share it. Maybe we'll run a nice bubble bath and relax together or do other things. I'm not sure, that last part I think we'll have to play by ear.

"And in the morning I'm going to order us breakfast in bed. There'll be so much food that even Alfred will have trouble eating it and I'll make sure that there's strawberries and whipped cream, because there's that fantasy of yours that you told me about when you were drunk once, and we can fulfill it if you want."

15 October, just beforeseven o'clock

"Because it's my fault that we don't have enough money to pay for everything. You're the one that wanted to give Antonio another loan!" Arthur's voice had risen exponentially since the start of their argument. He had been on his laptop when he received an email about one of their payments not going through.

Francis hadn't been as passionate in their argument as he usually was. "You said that it was fine." That had been his entire argument. Reiterated over and over again.

"I said it was fine if we still had enough left over after we had paid for everything involving the wedding. I'm now going to have to use our savings unless you can think of another way to get some money together, because Antonio's not paying it back anytime soon and you know it." Anger twisted Arthur's voice into something that was a ghost of his normal one.

"I'm sorry. I'll try see if I can get some back from 'Tonio or ask Gil, he won't mind." Francis sat on the couch and leaned heavily against it.

Arthur didn't notice the ghostly pallor to Francis' skin or the labored breathing that came from him. "And put us in debt with Gilbert? Francis, you know how much I hate it when you make unsound financial decisions."

"I know." Francis' voice was weak. "'Tonio's my friend and I don't like seeing him struggling. Sorry."

It had been the apology that alerted Arthur to there being something wrong. When they fought it was almost unheard of for either of them to back down until the fight was over for a good few hours, or even weeks. Most of their fights ended with one of them storming out of the room as they got tired of fighting a battle that they would never win.

"Francis." Arthur paused and his head tilted slightly in confusion. "Are you alright?"

A nod came from Francis, but Arthur should have known that he was not okay. "I'm fine. I just think that I may be coming down with something."

There was a part of Arthur that knew that what was happening to Francis wasn't just 'coming down with something'. It seemed to be a lot more serious than that and it caused a mad rush of adrenaline to run it's way through Arthur. His heart beat rose exponentially and he knew that his breathing matched Francis' at that time.

"I'll help you to bed?" Arthur offered.

A short shake of Francis' head, he seemed favour physical signs over speech at the moment. "Not now. I don't think I'll make it." His sentences were short and felt like they had been crudely threaded together. "Chest, it hurts."

Minutes passed. Arthur could do nothing but stand there as he waited for Francis to tell him what was wrong. He felt terrified. What if it was actually something serious for once? Though Francis got sick often, he got better within a day or so, but something about this time made Arthur feel uneasy.

"If there's anything I can get you please don't hesitate to ask." Arthur paused and moved so that he knelt in front of the couch. He didn't want to sit on one of the other couches and Francis' limbs sprawled over the one he currently occupied, leaving no space for Arthur to get on. "If it gets much worse I might call the doctor."

"It'll...pass." Francis had trouble speaking, his breath completely lost as he struggled to keep himself calm.

Arthur found Francis' skin hot to the touch when he put his hand on Francis' thigh. He wasn't sure what else to do. A few moments later it felt as if Francis was stone cold as a shivers wracked through his body and took any and all heat with it.

Still Arthur knelt there. His mind swam at a million miles per hour, he wasn't sure what he should do. He had never been put in such a situation where he was absolutely sure that something was wrong and yet his mind didn't want to fully believe it.

His thumb traced circles to try and reassure Francis, and to give himself something to focus on. Surely it would pass like Francis said. He was only twenty-six, that was extremely young still and Francis kept himself fit and didn't eat junk food.

"How about I help you into bed? Then you can at least be comfortable," Arthur offered again. A while passed. He wasn't sure how long, even as the ticking of the clock punctuated the silence on its regular schedule.

Francis nodded half-heartedly and didn't do much else.

"Alright. Pass me your hand and I'll try pull you up. Then you can put your arm around me and lean on me." Arthur sounded a lot calmer than he felt in that moment.

Arthur grabbed Francis' hand, it felt clammy, and helped hoist him up. Once he got Francis to stand he threaded the man's arm over his shoulders and interlocked his fingers with Francis'. It was probably uncomfortable for Francis but Arthur didn't really know what else to do with his hand.

Once he had looped his hand around Francis' hip and he was sure he had a good enough grip, he started to walk with him. He could feel every single pound of Francis' weight as the man leaned heavily on him, but strangely enough he felt as if the weight wasn't a burden at all.

It was slow going and throughout the entirety of it Arthur talked to Francis. He tried to be encouraging and told him about how great he was doing and how he was almost there and then explained that the door was just a few steps away and it wouldn't take long to get there at all.

At one point Francis nearly tipped over to the one side but Arthur was glad that he held him firmly and managed to get him back onto his feet before Francis could lose the entirety of his balance and bring Arthur down with him.

Once they reached the bedroom Arthur tried to let Francis down gently but it was almost as if he was adamant about on flopping onto the bed like a fish. The duvet pulled up on the one side and Arthur didn't even feel the urge to frantically tuck it back in like he always did.

"Are you feeling any better than you were?" Arthur asked. As he expected he received a shake of the head. He bit his lip, at the moment, he was at a complete loss on what to do. Again. This was the most helpless Arthur had felt in a long time. He wished that he knew what was happening so he could know how to act. At the moment it was just a giant guessing game and he did not like it one bit.

16 October, at arse o'clock in the morning

Arthur's fingers naturally intertwined themselves with Francis' like they done so many times that day and like Francis' fingers had done to his so many times before. Throughout the course of the day Arthur had felt the exact same hand in so many different circumstances.

During breakfast when Francis gave it a reassuring squeeze and Arthur had gotten upset over there being jam on his hand and caused Francis to snicker. When they had been walking to the restaurant they were meant to go to for dinner and their hands swung gently along with the wind, bumping each other every so often. As dinner progressed Francis had slipped his left hand under the table and interlocked it with his his own, the emotions he read from the gesture had been warmth and comfort. It had been boiling as Francis panted and tried to gulp in breath, it had been icy cold as his entire body had been wracked with shivers.

At the end it had been Francis' hand. Now Francis lay still, his fingers twitched every now and then as his breathing changed pace. It was still uncomfortably fast - Francis' hospital bed had been lifted to try and alleviate any pressure on his heart while he slept. He would be asleep until well into the next day.

One of the doctors that worked the night shift entered the room and Arthur stiffened. Her footsteps were muted due to her rubber shoes, but the telltale squeaking on the linoleum floor was unmistakable. He turned around slowly to face her, fear prominent in his eyes and he felt like letting himself succumb to the veritable whirlwind of emotions brewing inside of him.

"Mr Bonnefoy," she addressed him. It was the wrong surname, and they had discussed it so many times. Kirkland-Bonnefoy had been what they'd settled on. Bonnefoy-Kirkland just didn't sound right with the 'Bohn-fwah' falling in the middle instead of at the end.

"Kirkland, er," He paused as the new surname he was about to take in a few days shuddered itself out of his mouth. "Kirkland-Bonnefoy, actually."

"Mr Kirkland-Bonnefoy then. I've got the results from the echocardiogram test." Her mouth was set into a grim line and he felt dread overwhelm him just by looking at her expression.

Arthur gulped. "What are they?" He did not want to know. On one hand they could be good, saying that Francis had not been injured terribly. On the other hand… Arthur did not want to think about what the results could be.

"Unfortunately we are unable to open up the heart using a balloon or stent so the only option would be to get a heart transplant." She looked more and more nervous by the second.

"The echo test what was the result?" If Arthur had've squeezed any harder he was sure that Francis would have been forced awake even with the numerous drugs pumped into his system.

"It was the last test for the day and you were incredibly lucky to manage to have it done. We only do the tests twice a week and you would have had to wait until Tuesday before—"

"Please." Arthur wasn't above begging at this point. "What were the results? Can you just tell me instead of running around the subject like a headless chicken."

Her mouth opened for a second before it closed. Then she steeled herself and told Arthur, "Forty percent. That's how much of his heart is still working." Her eyebrows threaded together in worry and her soft voice shattered with the information she just told Arthur.

And Arthur's mind reeled. Forty percent of one's heart that was left working was not that much at all. He did not know the state that Francis would be in once he woke up — and how bad the damage would be. Forty percent. Arthur got tired after climbing two flights of stairs, his heart hammering against his chest and telling him to slow down.

But forty percent. That was absolutely insane. If only he had've gotten Francis to the hospital earlier. He was a complete idiot to just think that Francis would be alright when he obviously hadn't been. His hand continued to constrict around Francis' until he finally realised what he had been doing.

With a start he released his hand and looked on in shame at the half moon shaped marks. At least he was still alive. That was a good thing. Arthur had called the ambulance and they took Francis, he had been refused entry into the ambulance and had to search high and low for his car keys and had driven madly to the hospital. There were even a few times that he nearly swerved off the road because he shook so much and his mind went lot faster than the car had been.

It was still early enough in the evening for there to be a few doctors around that hadn't gone home and they hadn't been classed as a night emergency, apparently, a favour from the receptionist that had, according to her, saved Arthur a lot of money. He didn't know exactly what she said, he was too worried about rushing through the forms so he could hand them in and get to Francis.

They managed to stop the heart attack, whatever they had done to do so and managed to squeeze in Francis for an echocardiogram test. He wasn't too sure what that entailed either, but it would take a photo of the heart using ultrasound in order to create an image of the heart so that it could be examined.

It was his kind of luck, and he felt terrible because it had fallen on Francis. Francis had been so excited for their wedding. He had planned everything down to a T. The cake, their clothes, the photographer, the invitations, he had even attempted to write Arthur's wedding vows for him, much to his consternation.

It was so bloody unfair. He had finally gotten his chance at happiness, and he'd gotten it ripped out from under him like a tablecloth. He still stood, but he had wobbled and still wobbled precariously, waiting to fall at any moment.

October 16, fuck o'clock in the afternoon

It was late in the afternoon that Francis finally decided to come back from the dead. Arthur should have thought of a better analogy than that. It was harsh, considering the events that had happened last night.

Arthur had barely gotten a wink of sleep. He knew that he must have dozed off at around four in the morning because there was a period of time, about thirty minutes long, where he couldn't remember anything. Or he could have been so stressed that he just forgot what happened. In all truthfulness, Arthur was a complete wreck,

"Afternoon, sleeping beauty," Arthur said when he saw Francis crack open an eye to show a slither of blue.

"What time izzit?" Francis asked. His voice slurred from being in a drug-induced sleep.

Arthur looked towards the clock. "It's afternoon, two to be exact. You managed to sleep the entire day away."

Slight panic fell over Francis' features and he sat up fully before wincing. "Where am I? What about my work, I had to go in early today."

"I've already sorted it out." Arthur pushed Francis down gently. "Just relax and keep your trap shut. You had a heart attack and the doctor told me that you will still be sore and weak for a few more days, if not weeks."

He wasn't going to tell Francis what the doctor had told him. Due to their rushed entrance the previous night, it had been overlooked that Arthur technically wasn't married to Francis yet. He knew that they would not have told him the results of the echocardiogram amongst other things if they had've known that they weren't married. That didn't change his resolve, he didn't want Francis to know how bleak things were. Arthur really didn't want the man to give up hope.

"But I'm not that old and I'm not that fat." Francis rubbed at his eye and stretched in the bed.

The chance of him having a heart attack, especially one so big, had been almost nothing. "I know. But these sorts of things can happen to anyone. On the up side, you're still alive," Arthur tried.

"It must have been bad," Francis said. "The Arthur I know prides himself on being a realist despite your pessimistic tendencies. So how bad was it?"

He would not tell Francis how bad it actually was. He had been found out on his lie with such a thing as optimism. Arthur Kirkland (soon to be Kirkland-Bonnefoy) was not optimistic. In order to steel himself he took in a deep breath in.

"It was one of the worse cases that they'd seen. They weren't able to put a stent in or anything like that, the only option would be a heart transplant or you'll have to live with the damage. I don't know how bad that is yet." He ran his hand through his hair and his nails scratched at his scalp from the roughness of it.

Francis laughed. He honest to God started to laugh. It was more of a chuckle than a laugh but Arthur was left dumbfounded. The man really was crazy. After a long while Francis seemed to calm himself down.

"Sorry," he began. "I can't believe our turn of luck." Francis' face was grim, despite the laughter he knew the full extent of the situation. Or at least what he thought was the full extent of the situation.

"You can say that again." Arthur had stood since Francis had woken up. The soft movements of him from under the thin hospital sheets snapped Arthur's mind to full attention and he was ready and waiting to fetch anything if Francis needed it, or if there was something wrong. Since there seemed to be no issues at the moment he pushed Francis' legs aside and sat down on the bed without his permission.

"You could have asked. I'm lying here in hospital and then you barbarically shove my legs aside to make space for yourself," Francis said indignantly.

"Well, I have been at your bedside for the past twelve or so hours, the least you could do is give me the space to sit." Arthur settled himself into a more comfortable position so that he could lean on the rail at the foot of the bed. He suppressed a yawn, after everything that happened over the past few hours, and with him being stressed over Francis, he had been left in a right state.

All he wanted to do was to curl up next to Francis and sleep for the rest of his life, but he couldn't. For starters, Francis would tease him about doing something so childish, and then Arthur wouldn't want to be caught in public in such a… demeaning position. He did value his dignity above most things.

"If you want to sit on the same bed as me you better help me to the bathroom or else you won't want to sit on the bed any longer."

Arthur snorted. "I'm not helping you, nor your old man dick to the bathroom."

"I'm only three years older than you."

Arthur sighed and stood. "I just got comfortable. You better be grateful for this. Come on." He took Francis' hand and helped him into a sitting position.

Francis didn't look to be too comfortable sitting under his own power. "If you don't support me properly and I fall, I will end you."

He awkwardly tried to slip and arm around Francis. In all honesty, he didn't know what he was doing, but at least he had his strength on his side and was able to help Francis to the edge of the bed. Francis only wore the pants he had on the night before. He didn't even remember when Francis' shirt had been lost.

Today Francis leaned on him even more than he had the night before and Arthur had to right him every few moments.

"I'm not helping you aim," Arthur ground out when they reached the door to the bathroom. It was in Francis' room that he shared with three more beds and zero patients, so it wasn't a very far walk. But Francis seemed to be tired.

"Just give me a few moments," he managed to say between breaths. He looked like he had run one of those marathons that people train months to do, not walking to the bathroom situated less than ten steps away.

October 17, who gives a shit about the time at this point any more.

"I regret to inform you that Mr. Bonnefoy died during the night." A different doctor to the previous morning talked. A man now, with clipped tones and a hard gaze that didn't hide the emotions he felt.

Arthur stopped mid-step, his foot hovered indecisively over the grey floor of the hospital. He didn't want to believe it. The staff had forced him out of the hospital with the excuse that he needed rest and that visiting hours were over. Apparently, Arthur had been lucky that he was able to stay during the previous night due to it being an emergency.

That had been his last night with Francis.

"What?" Arthur asked. His foot came down slowly and he faced the doctor. His mouth stayed open, even though he had finished speaking.

"I'm sorry sir, would you like to pay your final respects to the body?" The doctor's grip on his clipboard was strong enough to turn his knuckles white, but the tone contradicted his body language completely.

"What happened? I need you to tell me. Was it because he wasn't breathing properly or was it something else? Just tell me please." Arthur felt helpless. He hadn't expected something like this. The entire thing was surreal. Francis was supposed to be waiting at home, ready to joke with him and jovially insult him on everything imaginable.

Not lying on a hospital bed with labored breathing and flushed skin. Not lying there dead. Arthur couldn't get his breathing to listen to him and the all too familiar tilting and twisting of his body began as the nausea hit him. His jaw snapped shut with an audible clacking of his teeth.

"He had a second heart attack. There was an issue with his placement and he was put into the wrong ward, meaning that—"The doctor was cut off by Arthur as rage began to envelop him in a heat that he had experienced many times before.

"Meaning that due to your stupid mistakes he is dead," he hissed. "I was forced to go home with the promise that everything was going to be alright and when I come back what has just happened? Due to negligence my fiancé is dead. And did I get a phone call?" Arthur's voice became hysterical. "No! I didn't even get told that it happened."

"Sir, please calm down, you're causing a scene." The doctor tried but Arthur wasn't having any of it.

"Do I look like I give a rat's arse about a scene! He is dead, do I have to spell it out for you? D-E-A-D. I wasn't even told about it." Arthur's hands constricted into fists and he fought to control his breathing.

He met the doctor's eyes. "Just take me to see him. Dammit! Why? Why does everything have to happen to me." The anguish was evident in his voice. He turned back to the doctor and said to the doctor in a quiet voice, "Please, just take me to him."

There were many twists and turns in the hospital. A few paintings lined the wall, all bright colours and happy images. Arthur wanted to take them all off the wall and throw them. He had already lost track of where he was in the hospital and the smell of lemon-scented disinfectant assaulted his nostrils.

Large windows let sunlight into the hospital. The midday sun shone brightly outside, and he could see staff members sitting and talking outside. On their break when their lack of order had caused the death of someone within the very walls of this hospital.

"We're nearly there sir," had been all that the doctor had said on the walk. Arthur wanted him to speak, he wanted the man to insist that it wasn't their fault so that he could rip into the man's neck and lay him bare for everyone to see what a filthy liar he and every other person in the medical profession was.

He looked peaceful. Arthur sucked in a breath at the sight. Any and all traces of any emotion had been completely wiped from Francis' face, leaving him in a tranquil state. His arms had been moved so that the hands rested on top of each other on his stomach.

"I'm sorry," Arthur whispered quietly to the stillness. He slowly moved over to him and made sure that his shoes didn't make a noise on the floor, lest he wake him. Lest he wake the dead man with the sound of himself walking.

His hand glided over long fingers, they were cold to the touch. He would never be able to feel the warmth of Francis ever again. Francis had left him all alone in this cruel world, he had abandoned him.

"I hate you, you know. Thanks to you our chance at a fairytale ending is completely ruined." Arthur laughed humorlessly. The closed eyelids of Francis were disconcerting. They were so round as they molded to the shape of his eyeballs. Above them there were perfectly shaped eyebrows that had held so much expression in them as they danced with Francis' emotions.

He paused as if he were waiting for Francis to open an eye and make a remark about hate being such a strong word.

"Well then, I despise you more than any other person on the entire planet, and that includes Gilbert," Arthur replied to the mock conversation.

Then Francis would say something about Gilbert at least knowing when to shut up.

"Like you're one to speak. Always going on about your next appointment for a manicure or how one of your customers ordered fish and chips in your restaurant and how that ruined the oil. And I'd have to yell at you to shut up or keep you entertained in other ways."

Francis' lips looked smooth and he knew that they felt just as smooth as they looked — Francis had kissed him many times throughout their three-year-long relationship. Though he was going to miss their most important kiss of all, the one at the altar.

"No I'm not shutting up because you're dead. This is me trying to say my goodbyes to you." Arthur choked on the word 'goodbye' and what had previously been a lighter atmosphere instantly descended back into the darkness it had been barely a few minutes prior.

"I guess this is it." He gulped for air. "It's now time for me to say goodbye to you. I wouldn't have thought this moment would come so soon. We were supposed to have decades together." The blond hair was silky under his hand.

"It was meant to be forever." Tears sprung up in his eyes and he blinked them away. There was no chance in hell that we was going to be weak and cry, especially not in front of Francis. He would probably taunt him for years. His mind paused, yes, the dead man would totally taunt him.

"We weren't meant to be ripped apart because of some stupid mistake!" There was a tremor in his voice now. "And you had to leave me." His hand ripped itself away from Francis and he cradled it with his other one.

He shouted now. "You left me less than a week before our wedding and now I have to deal with everything by myself thanks to you!"

It was at this point that he couldn't completely hold back the tears that threatened to run down his red face. He dabbed his eyes with his sleeve and glared at Francis. Arthur sat with his back completely straight on the other hospital bed and his arms crossed gracefully in his lap, not unlike Francis'.

"I love you so much that I hate you. I wish that I could have shown you exactly how much I love you. It hurts so much, it always had, but now, I'm just empty."

He sat there for a long time as he tried to reel in his emotions. Arthur's head pounded painfully, his ears buzzed, and the world swayed around him like he was on a ship. He jerked suddenly when he felt a hand on his shoulder and was met with the doctor that had told him the news.

Arthur didn't even want to say the word to himself anymore.

"It's been an hour, sir," The doctor stated, he no longer held his clipboard.

After the doctor spoke Arthur nodded. He didn't trust his voice to be able to say anything without breaking, as well with himself. and leading to him collapsing on the floor as he bawled his eyes out. That sort of thing was reserved for behind closed doors. Not in public in front of more than one person.

Arthur slowly stood, his legs felt like jelly and he was worried that he wouldn't be able to walk out of the room by his own power. With one last glance towards Francis, he left the room. He wished to gaze at Francis for just a few more seconds but he knew that if he did so he would never be able to turn his back towards the man and leave the room.

"Arthur?" Francis' voice sounded rough and Arthur turned around fast enough for him to see the world turn dark for a moment in front of his eyes.

He could immediately see something was wrong. The way that Francis was sat up in bed seemed unnatural. His arm bent awkwardly to hold up his weight.

"I blame you. It's your fault that I'm dead. If you had've just listened to your instinct and taken me to the hospital when your gut told you to, I wouldn't be dead." His voice was disjointed and the syllables fell out his mouth like a viscous liquid.

Moments after Francis said that Arthur turned around and legged it.

Arthur jerked awake, his vision blurred as he sat up suddenly in his bed and the blankets pooled around his waist. He tried to calm his breathing and after a while it returned to normal.

He'd just dreamt about what had happened. He had relived nearly every moment of terror that had cascaded over his body in waves and had forced him to be victim to his own mind as it showed him the terrible events that he wished he could forget about.

Arthur didn't want to see Francis in pain again. He didn't want to regret his decision of not calling an ambulance sooner. Never again in his entire life did he want to see the evil machinations of his mind as if pulled Francis back from the dead and forced him to blame Arthur for everything.

And he did blame himself, but he hated his mind for putting words into Francis' mouth. There was no way that Francis would blame him. The man was too good for that. Arthur knew that because Francis had told him last night.

Francis.

He was still alive, albeit a ghost. A cacophony of emotions battled for dominance within Arthur. His hands gripped the duvet and his chest felt tight. Was this how Francis felt? Or was it more painful? Arthur didn't want to think about it. He got out of bed and forced his limbs to cooperate with him even though they felt like they were attached by strings to some puppeteer that had a penchant for setting him up with misery.

Once he got his limbs to listen to him properly he scrambled to the bathroom. His stomach had been threatening to revolt on him for a while now and had finally gone through with it.