Arthur glanced at the kitchen clock, it was now after eight pm. According to what Francis had said earlier he hadn't eaten since that morning. He looked in the fridge, there wasn't as much food as he would expect a 'gourmet chef' like France to have. "When was the last time you went shopping, Frog?" he muttered to himself as he pulled out an egg carton. There may not be very much that he could cook well, but he could at least fry an egg.
He chuckled as he cracked a few. If Francis saw him, he would start screaming about how Arthur was trying to kill him. But Francis was still upstairs. He had fallen asleep soon after Arthur arrived, and was still asleep when Arthur decided they needed to eat and got up. He hoped to return before Francis realized he was gone.
Francis. His smile faded. Arthur had no idea how he had gotten like this, but he knew how he felt. Poor bloke. As much as he wanted to help, there was only so much Arthur could do. The best thing he could do was care for the other man.
Care about him. Because he did. He had been in love with Francis since World War II, or at least, that was when he realized it. And as much as he wanted to, now would be the wrong time to tell him. If he tried to say anything now, Francis would never believe him. Depression was a terrible thing to build a relationship on. So he would continue to hold his tongue and wait for Francis to be ready.
Francis was alone when he woke up. The bed was cold where Arthur had been. He looked at the clock, he had fallen asleep several hours ago. Arthur had probably left shortly after that, thinking that Francis would be alright. He wasn't.
He tried to push back the crushing loneliness that threatened to overtake him, but instead just found himself asking why? Why fight it? Why even try? No one cared anyway. Not even Arthur.
He curled up, burying himself in his blankets again, waiting for sleep to claim him again. Maybe things would look better in the morning. Arthur always said-
No. Thinking about Arthur wouldn't help. Maybe nothing would. Maybe he would stay depressed for the rest of his life. Maybe if he was stronger Arthur wouldn't have left.
He ignored the tears welling in his eyes, he refused to cry anymore. He was going to be strong now.
He got out of bed, going into his bathroom and staring at his reflection. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin red from crying, and his hair mussed from laying in bed for so long. It was almost enough to send him back to bed. Almost. Instead he washed his face and went back to his room, intending to find some clean clothes and go outside for a while.
Instead he found Arthur.
"What are you doing here?" Francis whispered in shock.
Arthur turned to face him and held out a plate, "You said you hadn't eaten since this morning… I thought you might be hungry." he hesitated when Francis didn't move, "Are you alright?"
"I thought you had left."
"No, I just-" he stopped, realizing what Francis meant, he set the plate down, "Oh, Francis. Come here."
Francis hesitantly stepped forward and Arthur gently sat him on the edge of the bed. "Oui?" Francis sighed.
"I will be here for as long as you need me." Arthur handed him the plate, "Now eat."
He looked at it, it appeared to be some kind of sandwich made with eggs and… some sort of... leftovers maybe? Not his first choice, but hopefully not completely inedible. He looked up at Arthur, "Have you eaten?"
"Yeah, I had something while I was downstairs."
Francis held out half of the sandwich, "I know when you're lying, Arthur."
"You need to eat more than I do."
"That doesn't mean you don't need to eat at all."
Arthur glared at him for a minute, then took the sandwich. Francis waited until Arthur had taken a bite before he tried his. He had no plans to be poisoned tonight.
"Are you going back to bed now?" Arthur asked when he finished, picking up the plate to take it back to the kitchen.
"Actually, I thought I might go outside."
"That sounds nice. Mind if I join you?"
Francis looked at him in surprise, "Non, of course not."
A few minutes later, the two of them were standing in the back garden, staring up at the stars that were starting to come out. Both were barefoot and coatless despite the cold air.
Francis realized he was holding Arthur's hand, and wasn't sure who had initiated the contact. But it was alright. He would be alright. He would get better, and maybe then he would tell Arthur how he felt. Maybe Arthur wouldn't be angry. Maybe, by some incredible chance, maybe Arthur felt the same way.
well, that's the end I had planned, but I'm going to leave it incomplete because I might decide to write another part. So, y'know, let me know your opinion: is it good as it is? or should I write a third part?