It was domestic, and Arthur didn't like domestic. "I've explained to the florist and the photographer why we had to cancel the wedding and they understood and didn't even charge me."
Francis sighed, "You really are an accountant. Always making sure that you get your money back."
Arthur neatly crossed out 'florist' on the list of people he needed to phone, the phone numbers were neatly written next to each item on the list. "No, I'm not in the mood to go into crippling debt or is that not a good enough of a reason?"
"You don't have to act so prissy, I was just stating the truth," Francis said.
"Hold on," Arthur turned his attention towards the phone he held against his ear, "Hello, this is Arthur Kirkland speaking, I would like to cancel the honeymoon suite booked under the name Francis Bonnefoy… yes, I know that my surname is Bonnefoy… no, we were supposed to get married … erm, he died a few days ago, that's why I haven't called just yet—"
Arthur heard Francis snicker in the background, "So elegant. You really know what to say."
"Just give me a moment. Quiet you moron, you're supposed to be dead! No no, that was one of my cousins. He has a habit of speaking to me while I'm on the phone. Do you think you could give a refund?... Yes I do realise that you aren't able to refund rooms, but this is a different situation." Arthur stayed silent and listened the person on the other side of the line.
"It's a shame, really. Ludwig told me that your hotel was the 'most awesome place ever'... Ludwig? I was talking about Ludwig Beilschmidt, he recommended your place to me and my late fiancé. I don't want to tell him about how you didn't even allow a refund for a man in mourning… So you'll refund me? Excellent. Have a good day." He hung up the phone and let the fake smile fall off his face.
"I take my words back. You brought up Gilbert's younger brother?" Francis asked.
Arthur smirked, "If it weren't for them that hotel would be bankrupt."
Ludwig always used the hotel whenever he was in London for business and Gilbert used to use it when he came to visit Matthew before eventually deciding that it was a good idea to rent a cheap apartment with roommates the he didn't even like. When Ludwig came to London he didn't skimp on his choice of hotel room, and he would visit at least every second month.
"True. I am still amazed that they gave you a full refund when you dropped his name. Most businesses are better than that, and the room we booked was not that cheap." Francis pointed out.
"Would you rather lose one customer or a recurring one that comes at least six times a year, if not more?" Arthur asked. He looked in the mirror in time to see Francis nod.
Francis' hand mirror had been propped up against some books in the lounge, the same ones that Arthur had thrown against the wall in a fit of anger a few days prior, allowing Arthur to see Francis whenever he looked into it.
"And why were you even talking while I was on the phone? You know how much it irritates me when you do that." Arthur was not pleased. He looked at the list and was surprised to find that he just had to call Gilbert — Francis had nagged him to ask him over for dinner so that he could just see him again.
"Maybe that's why I do it. When are you calling Gilbert?" he asked. Francis must have noticed that Gilbert's name was the last one on the list as well.
"I'll call him now. Do you have any idea of what we could eat. You know that with me my only option with guests is to order from a restaurant," Arthur said.
"I could always help you cook step-by-step. It could be like that one movie…Ratatouille." Francis offered.
Arthur raised his eyebrows. "There is no chance in hell that I'm letting you sit on my head, even as a ghost. Unlike the rat, you are human sized and will not fit under a chefs hat."
"It wouldn't hurt to try."
Arthur ignored him. "We could always ask him to pick up something from Vargas'. You know, the restaurant that you used to work at along with the entirety of your family."
"How many times do I have to say sorry. It wasn't because of you, it was because of them. I do recommend the spaghetti, Feliciano's gotten good at that one."
"Please stop reusing clichéd breakup lines. You used to be so proud of coming from the grand city of love and rat infestations." He searched up Gilbert's name in his contacts list. "Now shut up. I'm calling Gilbert so you can stand there in silence and cry over him."
Him and Francis had talked about it after Matthew had visited. It probably would be better if Arthur didn't tell anyone that Francis was still around and could only be seen in mirrors while his voice was heard perfectly fine.
"We should get more mirrors, that way you can see my beautiful face wherever you go. It was your choice to not put any in the apartment," Francis said.
Arthur thought about it for a moment. "Do I really want to be seeing more of your ugly mug?"
"Of course you do, darling. Without it I doubt you would have a reason to wake up in the mornings." Francis was correct.
If Francis had been properly dead he would most likely have given up on life. He wouldn't have bothered to cancel all of the wedding arrangements, or talk to the people he grudgingly called friends, or even get out of bed in the mornings. Francis kept him sane by making him go insane in a way.
"I'm calling Gilbert." Arthur said and pressed the green dial button.
After calling Gilbert and asking him if he would like to come over to Arthur's with the promise of free food if he brought it, Arthur was left to wait with Francis until he arrived.
"If you get another mirror then we can go on a proper date, wine and expensive food and everything," Francis said.
"You really want that mirror, don't you?" Arthur asked. He finished packing up all his papers and put them in their respective folders. Organization had always been something that appealed to him and now that the house had been cleaned up, he noticed himself getting back into the same mindset of always being neat and tidy that he had been in before Francis' death.
"I can't handle knowing that you're unable to see me," Francis said dramatically and Arthur would have liked to believe that he was draping himself theatrically over one of the couches, throwing his arms into the air and leaning his head back to look at the ceiling.
"I know you, Francis. If I get a larger mirror will you be happy?" Arthur ground out.
"Oh, yes please! Then you can see all of the clothes I'm able to choose from and we can be like a normal couple once again," Francis said quickly.
Arthur shook his head. "All you want is for me to see you in all your glory."
"When they say that you're taken back to your peak condition in death they weren't lying. I don't think my abs have been so defined since I was twenty."
"You really are a vain man. Before you ask, no, I do not want to see and if you want to somehow have strange voyeuristic sex using a mirror I'll give you your answer right now: Not a chance." Arthur hoped that he had nipped all of those questions in the bud.
"How did you know what I was going to ask that?" Francis asked.
"It was written on your face, you're easy to predict. I'm sure that even a five-year-old, if given enough opportunity, would be able to guess your every action," Arthur explained.
Francis thought for a moment, "And what if I watched you?"
"The answer is no, N-O. You're dead, it's technically necrophilia." Arthur just wanted him to shut up.
After much arguing about what constituted necrophilia or not between them with Arthur being insistent that since Francis' body was six feet under, he was officially dead and anything they did would be counted as that, while Francis just kept reiterating how boring and 'vanilla' Arthur was for not wanting to try anything new.
The ringing of the doorbell startled them both. Arthur stood up and Francis stayed where he was on the couch.
It took forever but Gilbert finally left after eating and cleaning out a good portion of Francis' wine that Arthur hadn't gotten to yet. He made a mental note to buy beer in case Gilbert was ever asked over again.
"Did you really have to spend the entire evening sitting with us?" Arthur asked the moment he thought Gilbert was far enough away from the door.
"I do have a right to see my friends. I'm dead and if you don't ask them over I'll probably never see them again," Francis said.
"As you said, you're dead. That means that you don't have any rights. Unless you want to march on downtown and start shouting to everyone from mirrors, demanding that ghosts deserve rights too." Arthur was tired. He hated socialising with people, the only person that he could stand more than a few hours with was Francis and even then it was tedious.
"You don't have to be so heartless Arthur. I may be dead, but I am still a person," Francis defended.
"A person would never force someone else to do stuff they didn't want to." Arthur sat down heavily on the couch.
"I'm sorry, Arthur," Francis said. "How about I take you out on a date — or we could just stay at the house since I technically can't leave."
Arthur cocked his head to the side. "You mean that you're stuck within the boundaries of our property?"
"I think so. Every time I get close to the outer walls I get this odd feeling that makes me just not want to try leaving. Unless I never want to come back." Arthur could see Francis in the reflection of the mirror, he looked undeniably sad.
"So if you leave that means I'm never going to see you again?" Arthur fidgeted.
"But I'll have to leave eventually. I can't stay here forever, you need to move on." Francis' voice was weak as he spoke. He didn't like the idea at all and neither did Arthur.
"You don't have to leave. You can stay here forever." Arthur tried to make Francis understand that he wanted him to stay.
"I can't, mon cher. If I did you would never move on and it's insane to spend the rest of your life devoted to a mere shadow of the person I used to be," Francis said, sullenly. He used a French nickname, and those were only reserved for when he really wanted Arthur to listen to him.
"But you don't understand—" Arthur was cut off by Francis.
"I do! Do you think I want to leave the person I was ready to spend the rest of my life with barely even a week after our wedding. It pains me to think that one day you're going to move on. Your memories with me are going to be tainted with dust and, the once vivid image you had of me will eventually fade to black and white, and years down the line you will be wondering if my eyes were blue or green. I don't want to leave, but I have to. I have to." Francis' control of his voice slipped on the last word.
"Sea blue. I don't think I'd ever forget your eyes, they remind me of trips to the beach when I was a kid. The entire year was spent waiting for one stupid day. Whenever I look into your eyes I get reminded of those days and then I remember how often we used to do stupid things and how much fun I had even if I seemed to be hating it," Arthur admitted.
"Arthur," he breathed out.
"And forgetting you." Arthur swallowed. "Forgetting you would be like forgetting how to breathe. I would never want to give up the happiest days of my life for some bloke that can barely tell the difference between 'they', 'their' and 'they're'. Not that you can either, but I'm trying to be poetic here and it's just not working out and I wish I could just have one more day with you. Just so I could hold your hand one more time and feel its warmth. So I can smell your disgusting garlic breath and have to endure your habit of leaving the toilet seat up."
"I love you too," Francis replied.
Arthur's demeanor changed. "Surely you can come up with something a bit better than 'I love you'? You are supposed to be the poetic one here. Likening my eyes to drops of dew on the grass in the morning and my eyebrows to the most delicate of caterpillars." Arthur laughed, not enough to form tears, but they were still there in the corners of his eyes.
"I'm sorry for not being able to create a magnificent masterpiece that would bring tears to everyone's eyes." Francis' retort held venom.
"You succeeded well enough. You just had to go all sappy." He used the palm of his hand to wipe his eyes.
"Are you still up for that date?" Francis asked, his voice back to its original pitch.
Arthur considered it. "You could say that you twisted my arm. When do you want it?"
"I was thinking the last day of October?" Francis asked.
"That would be—" Arthur did a calculation in his head— "Next week Tuesday, a work week."
"Don't you want the fun of a date on Halloween?" Francis purred.
"We are not dressing up. What you dressed up as last year is still burned into my retinas." Arthur blinked to clear away the mental image of yellow glitter and bananas.
"At least we were memorable." There was pride in Francis' voice. "Didn't Alfred say he still has nightmares?"
He didn't have very good memories of that evening. From what he could recall of that evening at least. The last thing he could remember was a group photo that he was not proud of and Francis insisting that Arthur should find a matching costume for his. Arthur was not very into fruit themed clothing and declined as politely as he could to Francis.
"He was joking. People usually over-exaggerate when they do that." Arthur stood.
"I wasn't talking about what you wore on Halloween," Francis said.
Arthur growled, "Don't insult me— you wanted to go to that infernal party. Why do you want to want to do it on Halloween anyways?"
"You really haven't figured it out yet?" Francis said, exasperated.
"Halloween of all days… That's when they say the veil between the spirit world and our world is thinnest," Arthur mused.
"And you've been complaining about my presence getting colder everyday and that's why. At least that's what my ghost gut is telling me," Francis said.
"Your ghost gut? That is the most uninventive thing that I've ever heard."
"But the alliteration." Francis sounded pained.
Arthur started towards their bedroom, "Alliteration does not make everything better. Only children's stories and poetry."