"I've been worried about your performance as of late, Mr Kirkland," Arthur's boss said.

Arthur sat straight-backed with his hands neatly fold in his lap. "I apologise, sir, I explained that my fiance has just died and I will make sure that I've caught up on everything by the end of the week."

"I don't want any of this nonsense about catching up your work. Mr Kirkland — Arthur, you are my best employee and even when you're handing in subpar work you're still above average. What I'm worried about is you. You're not the kind of person to slack off."

"I'm sorry. As I've told you I've been a bit stressed these past few days. By the end of the week I'll be back to normal." Arthur grinned and hoped that his boss would stop questioning him. The man was very kind but he just couldn't shake off the unease he felt when around him.

"You've said that already. I would love to offer you more leave but unfortunately we need you here more than you think." He took a sip from the styrofoam cup that his assistant had brought in a few minutes ago.

"Thank you, sir," Arthur was pretty sure that was a compliment, "But could you please tell me why you called me to your office?"

The man laughed, it was unsettling to Arthur, and then spoke, "I want to know how you're doing. I have asked you, yes?"

"You have, but why?" Arthur felt like he was getting nowhere.

Amusement was an emotion he could clearly see on his boss' face, "You've worked here for how many years? Three? Four?"

"Five." Arthur had gotten his job straight out of school and had been lucky to have gotten an internship that taught him everything he needed to know without going to university. His attitude towards work helped his career success as well.

His boss continued, "And during those years you have not once caused any issues and you have always put in your best. I just would like you to know that you are very important here, but if you feel it necessary to take a break for a while to sort out everything I'm not going to refuse, you've changed, and it pains me to see you so sad. Mr Bonnefoy, you loved him a lot?"

Arthur pressed his lips together. "I love him so much that it's painful. I don't think I'll ever stop loving him." He averted his eyes from his boss' piercing gaze.

"I am sorry for your loss, Mr Kirkland. It is not often that that a person finds someone they feel so strongly for. I do hope that the pain lessens for you over time," his boss said.

"I hope so too," Arthur said and met his boss' gaze. He wished that he could let Francis lie in peace in his varnished coffin with the words of his eulogy floating around him as he lay there for eternity, the handful of dirt Arthur once clung to pushing against the wooden lid. Not spend his nights talking to Francis' reflection in a mirror. His shoulders tightened and pulled them back more. He should be able to move on, not cling to his past. Arthur yearned to be able to let Francis go, like the handful of dirt.

"Did I upset you?" his boss asked.

"You didn't." Arthur didn't know what else to say. No excuse other than the truth would suffice.

"I should let you go," his boss made a show of checking his watch, "Your lunch hour is nearly over. Please try to get some sleep when you get home, Mr. Kirkland. You look dead on your feet."

"I will, sir."

Arthur wasn't going to sleep tonight and he knew it. It was the day of his and Francis' date, October 31st. He spent a large portion of his evening with anger in his eyes as he threatened the clock to move faster without using words.

Numerous mirrors lined the aisle that Arthur stood in and every single one reflected his pipe cleaner eyebrows and the bags under his eyes in more detail than he deemed necessary. Mirrors were more expensive than he estimated.

Arthur eyed out a rather large one, it stretched from a short way off the floor and just barely grazed the ceiling. It would take up a fair bit of wall space in his living room and he would have to get rid of a few paintings Francis forced upon him, but in the end it would be worth it.

Francis would to enjoy the boost to his already hot balloon-sized ego. Being able to see Francis without turning the man's pathetic mirror in this and that way had been a major contributing factor to his decision. The price tag made him want to say 'no' and then repeat it a few times for emphasis before he walked out of the shop empty handed. He would have to get it delivered to his house. He hated delivery men, they were always so rough with the items they delivered.

He shook his head and decided that he would buy the inordinately expensive mirror, to make Francis happy. When Francis was happy, he was happy.

"You've really gone all out Arthur, you bought roses, ingredients to make food with, and a mirror. I'm flattered." Francis beamed.

"Don't think I'll buy you another mirror, it was too expensive for my taste." Arthur couldn't help but stare at his dead fiance. He wasn't wearing his wedding suit that Arthur saw when Francis had first pitched up, but something a lot more expensive looking that was not within their price range.

"Do you enjoy what you see? It's one of the perks of no longer breathing. I can choose to wear anything I want to." Francis turned around and Arthur couldn't help but let his eyes get drawn along the lines of the suit. Very fine indeed.

"It's okay. Only you would choose something so showy." Arthur looked at himself and Francis. In the mirror they looked like a couple ready to go on a date. He held flowers, his grip strong enough to break the stems and his smile looked forced. Francis stood next to him, back slouched and hands in his pockets, he was the epitome of relaxed.

Arthur put the bouquet down on the table. "Why don't we get started on supper? You can shout over my shoulder and make me panic as much as you want to."

"That is an excellent idea." Francis followed Arthur to the kitchen. "Is that eggs and bacon? You are not making breakfast foods for dinner. Have I not taught you anything?"

"Not really no. I was just thinking that it would be a good idea to make something that I have some experience with," Arthur explained. Now that they were out of the lounge, it was impossible to see Francis unless he wanted to strain himself to peer into the mirror he had bought that day to try and see a glimpse of Francis' back whilst he stood at the stove.

"What would you like to start with?" Francis asked. At least he agreed with Arthur's point of view.

"Err, I don't really know. I was hoping that you could help with that. What about the bacon? It takes the longest time to cook." Arthur held up the package between his index finger and thumb. He had never been one for handling raw meat.

"I'm glad to see you have learned something from your experiments in the kitchen."

"Yet you still ate what I made for breakfast without complaining." Arthur said.

"I was surprised that I didn't die from food poisoning before," Francis mused. "It's amazing what the English come up with. Baked beans on toast, chips on toast, bread on toast—"

Arthur interrupted Francis, "It's toast on bread. Besides, it's not my fault that my country had so called boring ideas when it comes to a good meal. At least it fills you up, unlike the French. Where they slap a large price on half an egg drizzled with a fancy sauce and call it a meal."

"I wonder what will come next, breakfast on toast?" Francis continued.

"The brekkie bun is an Australian creation actually," Arthur corrected.

"Let's just start instead of bickering like old women, I would prefer it if we could get your idea of a romantic meal over and done with. First you need to turn on the oven. You must make sure that the dial you're turning is the correct one." Francis spoke as if he were talking to a young child.

"I don't appreciate it when you treat me like I don't ever cook. All I want you here for it to make sure that nothing gets burned, set on fire or broken." Arthur dug in the drawer until he found the scissors.

"Name one time that you haven't cremated a meal beyond recognition."

It took a while but Arthur finally managed to think of something. "The time with the mini sausage rolls that were on discount."

"You managed to burn them while they were still cold on the inside. Francis didn't accept that occasion it seemed.

"But you said 'beyond recognition'. They were still sausage rolls."

"And you still ate them despite the charring on the sides. That was disgusting. No — don't put it in the pan. Do you really want to have to scrape the bacon off?"

"Sorry, " he said sarcastically. "You don't have to bite my head off just a simple. 'Don't forgeet zee oil Arzur!' would be fine enough."

"You don't have to mock my accent or would you like me to go at yours? The oil is in the cupboard next to the fridge, bottom row," Francis said.

Arthur got the oil. So far he hadn't done anything too disastrous and the oven had been on the entire time. His cooking wasn't that bad, he just had a skewed perception of when things were cooked he and preferred his food to be on the cooked side rather than the raw side.

"That is not how you make toast," Francis said and a distorted image of his face appeared on the toaster.

"Why are you one the toaster?" Arthur did not shriek, because shrieking was for sissies and Arthur was not a sissy. He was a manly man that didn't shriek when people suddenly appeared on his toaster, except for when he wasn't expecting it. Like now.

"It is a reflection, no?" Francis asked.

"That's it." Determination coloured Arthur's voice. "I'm throwing the toaster away and getting new one. Preferably one without a reflective surface for you to put your face on."

"And you were making so much progress, the toast was only slightly burned this time," Francis said.

"That was because I panicked and pulled the plug out the wall when I saw your face on it." Arthur held the plug in his hand, the end swinging gently before he put it back into the wall socket.

The plate of food looked acceptable. At least the only burned thing on it was the toast. That was pretty good going in Arthur's opinion.

"Do you really have to drink the most expensive bottle?" Francis asked. He stood while Arthur sat and for a moment Arthur wanted to offer Francis a seat.

"Well you can't stop me." Arthur's shoulder lifted slightly to resemble a shrug.

Francis was agitate., "And that's what makes me worried. You could finish the entire bottle and that would be the end of it."

"Why have an entire fridge full of alcohol if you aren't going to drink it?" It was typical of Francis to own a fridge specifically made for wine. Arthur didn't understand why one needed various controls for temperature and specially made wire racks for storage. Last time he checked wine was stored outside of a fridge. Not that he knew all that much about wine other than how it had a much lower alcohol content than he wanted.

"I still don't know how you managed to find the key," Francis said.

"Like I've told you many times before, you predictable." Arthur smirked.

Francis' lips pursed. "Just do not drink all of it in one night or I will force you to buy a replacement and you won't be allowed to drink that one."

"That's unfair." Arthur decided to uncork the bottle, even though he hadn't started eating yet, and poured it to the brim of his glass.

Francis looked uncomfortable. "You barbarian. You know that you must never fill your wine glass to the top."

"I do." He took a sip of the wine, careful not to spill any on the white tablecloth he had put on their dining table.

The dining room was small and the table reflected that, it was meant to squeeze in six people and no more. The mirror in the lounge reflected his setup, albeit with Francis in the image. All the speak of mirrors making a room larger was true and the dining room seemed to blend into the lounge and stretch onwards.

For a few moments Francis seemed unwilling to speak. "I don't like how easily I've gotten used to not having a body. At least I'm glad that I don't have to worry about smelling that monstrosity that you're feeling up with your eyes." Francis said. He watched Arthur intently as he cut a few mouthfuls of food and ate them slowly.

Arthur pushed his plate away. "I'm not in the mood to eat anymore. You've managed to put me off."

Francis smirked. "It will save you from my fate for a few more years than if you had eaten it."

"Do you always have to insult my cooking?" Arthur asked.

"Why of course. I just love it when your ears go red and you become all shy."

It was true. Arthur could feel the tips of his ears heating up. He didn't like it at all. He put the wine glass down and leaned forward.

"That does make you a bully — making fun of someone to get a rise out of them." Arthur stared at Francis.

"This is true, but don't tell me you aren't the same. I can bring up plenty of examples where you have insulted my absolute perfection," Francis said.

"Touche." Arthur leaned back. He felt uncomfortable staring into his own reflection as Francis sat by his side. It wasn't right.

"There's something wrong," Francis stated.

There was nothing for Arthur to do except agree. "Why are we stuck like this? You're so close and yet so far away." He placed a hand on the mirror and kept it there before letting it drop. Condensation had gathered around it and after that faded away there was a definite hand shaped mark left on the mirror.

"I do not know. Maybe it was Fate. She could want us to test our love in different ways." Francis lifted a hand up and put it against the mark that Arthur had left. His fingers were longer than Arthur's own, though Arthur's were wider.

There was a soft smile on Francis' face, and Arthur couldn't help but smile back. "It could be. But why test us when there are so many other people?"

"Fate is a curious thing. Have you ever heard of the red string of fate?" Francis let his hand slip downwards and drop to his side.

Arthur racked his brain. "They're like soulmates, aren't they?" He wasn't too sure.

"I'll explain. According to Chinese legend there is a god in charge of matchmaking and what this god does, is he ties a red string to the ankles of the people that are fated for each other. And the beauty of it is that this string is allowed to stretch, and it is allowed to tangle, but it will never break," Francis explained.

"That's poetic. I wonder how they came up with something like that?"

"I don't know. What I want to ask you is do you believe in something like that. Do you believe that two people are destined to be together? Well before they've even met?" Francis asked.

Arthur looked down. "I used to believe that love is a choice. That it was a conscious decision to say that you're going to overlook all the negative traits that a person has and instead only focus on the good things."

Francis hummed. "You said 'used to' what changed that?"

"I'm not too sure," Arthur lied. He knew exactly when his view changed. "But now I think that love isn't a choice. In my life there has only been one person that I've ever loved and until I met him I didn't understand what true love was. True love is when you can look at a person and everything that they've done wrong and still say 'I love you' to them."

"And who might this person be?" And now he was fishing for compliments.

Arthur would be damned before he let Francis have it so easy, "Isn't it obvious. I'm talking about my cat that I used to have when I was twelve."

"Are you telling the truth?" Francis looked worried.

"Of course I'm not. Sure I did love Crumpet, but I wasn't in love with him. That is wrong in more ways than one. I was talking about you, you idiot," Arthur said.

"That was very romantic indeed. Why don't you just eat your burned toast." The sarcasm in Francis' voice was palpable.

Arthur narrowed his eyes, "I can't help it if I'm a naturally unromantic person. You have to admit you set yourself up for it, begging for me to say that it was you while I looked into your eyes and fluttered my long lashes."

"I don't beg for you to say that you love me. I would like it if you said it a bit more but you are a sour old man that is set in his ways," Francis said.

"I am not set in my ways."

There was no way that Arthur could be. His priorities had changed since the funeral. No longer did he have the same passion for achievement within his career, willing to sink to the bottom of the pond and spend more time with Francis than to give up one moment with him.

"You are Arthur, let's not argue about that as well. How about some dancing? I spent years teaching you to tell your left from your right, letting it go to waste would not be smart." Francis suggested.

"How are we going to dance if you're within the mirror?" Arthur was grateful for the change of subject and if it got him away from the table he no longer wished to sit at he would be even happier.

"We will have to try. Nothing too complicated, but I'm sure we can figure out something."

Arthur shot a smile in Francis' direction. He enjoyed dancing with Francis, even as terrible as he was.

"Do you have any idea of what music you would like?" Arthur already had his phone out of his pocket. Two messages and a missed call from Alfred. He ignored him and unlocked his phone.

"Google something long. I don't want to be stopping to change the song every few minutes."

The tones of the piano filled the air, slow and heavy, and Arthur found himself smiling nervously. He could recognise the piece within a few notes, Richard Clayderman. His mother was a fan of his works and would often put the record into the worn record player and play the songs.

"How are we going to do this?" Arthur asked. He stared into the mirror. Francis stood by his side, hands in the air, unsure where to put them.

"We'll have to stand sideways so that we can still see each other. Yes, now lift your arm up and put it near my shoulder. Hold it up, you don't want it in my shoulder, do you? Now I'll put my hand here and I want you to put your hand against mine," Francis explained. The song continued to play in the background.

"Like this?" Arthur double checked.

"Yes. Now I'm leading remember so you'll have to follow me," Francis said.

"Why are you leading?" Arthur didn't like how Francis assumed that he would lead and Arthur would follow him.

"It's because I actually know how to dance. Or would you like to waltz right through me and into a wall?" Francis asked,

It had taken a few tries but Arthur had reminded himself of the rhythm he should be moving it. It did take Francis counting out the steps for the first few minutes but he had gotten it and it was once again subconscious as he focused on not going through Francis.

He stared into the mirror and it was like looking into the engagement photo that was sitting on the table next to the smallest couch, glass still missing. Arthur's face was flushed and his heart pumped in his ears. A smile adorned his face, different to the one in the photo. Even he could see the underlying sorrow.

It lifted his entire face upwards until his eyes. They stayed still, and stared into the mirror. After a few moments he had to avert his eyes and instead chose to look at Francis. He looked serene as moonlight shone through the window and it made his glowing eyes seem like a trick played by the light. Though it wasn't.

Francis was still dead and Arthur was unable to touch him and other than a chill to the air and the reflection in the mirror, he didn't exist in that moment. The music changed, something slightly faster and they still kept the same speed. The notes danced with them and Arthur found himself staring once again into Francis' face.

His blond hair framed his face wonderfully, the curls softening his angular nose and his eyes were drawn to Francis' once more. It was unsettling to see someone's eyes glow, but over the past few days he had gotten used to it.

Arthur wanted to let his imaginary grip on Francis tighten, but found himself unable to do so unless he wanted to see the jarring sight of his hand resting within Francis. The idea made him feel nauseous and he pulled his attention away from that once again.

"I think I'm having a good time," Arthur said.

"I wish that I was with you to enjoy it."

Arthur cocked his head, "Are you not enjoying this evening?"

"I don't know. I am, but not being able to be able to feel you, to be with you is ruining it for me." Francis shifted and Arthur moved to compensate.

"I'm sorry."

Francis laughed, "The once time you don't have to say sorry you do. It's not your fault that we are in this situation and if you ask me, I would rather be stuck with this frustration as I dance with you than to never be able to see you again."

Arthur was happy. Around him, everything threatened to fall apart. But in this one moment he was proud to admit that nothing bothered him other than the music and being with Francis. Earlier that evening they had spoken of love and he still couldn't find the courage to voice the words he wanted to so badly.

There was a difference between saying 'I love you' to a coffin and implying it someone and and actually saying it to someone. Arthur wished that Francis hadn't been taken from him like he had before he gained to courage to say that he loved Francis over and over again until he was blue in the face. They were just three small words.

He laughed. "I can't believe that we're doing this."

"Doing what?" Francis asked.

"Pretending that we're normal. This sort of thing is not normal. We aren't supposed to live like this," Arthur rambled.

"What do you mean by that, you're being unclear?"

"What we are at this moment. What we've been since you died, it's unnatural." Arthur longed to have the last glass of wine that was still in the bottle. He would save it for another day.

"We can live through it day by day though," Francis said and they continued to dance until Arthur's feet were hurting and it was well past the evening and into the morning.