Always, this dream will sneak back from the recesses of his mind to haunt him when he least expects it. He will be standing in a field that the rain has reduced to nothing more than mud, before the ground under his feet shifts so that he is thrown into a pit underneath, hands flailing to try and gain a hold on the air without anything to hope for. Above him fingers reach for him, always too late to stop him from falling, falling down without ever halting.
He wakes up, gasping, before calling up the number of the man whose fault he deems this, held in the knowledge that he can't call Francis without being teased mercilessly by his horrible, lovely, idiotic and used to be caring ex.
…
Francis is always dreaming this dream recently.
Arthur is standing just in front of him, but as Francis reaches him the ground falls away and Arthur is gone, fear etched across his face and those green eyes locked onto Francis, and Francis reaches to catch him too late, always too late.
Is it because he deliberately hurt Arthur? Because he said he was just something to mess with and left him standing like a statue?
He did love him, but was scared…if that was enough of an excuse. He was scared that his heart might change him into the person who he used to be.
He asked Arthur out because the boy was so perfect, in his rich life style and presidential duties, and made the angel fall from Heaven into his arms, before tossing him aside like trash because he was a coward.
But could he call him? No, he couldn't, but neither could he delete the boy's number for the memory of those lovely green eyes.