Snip snip

The sound of a pair of scissors echoed across the still room. Arthur closed his eyes as Francis' gentle fingers brushed away some of his hair. The Frenchman was, just like how he always did, cutting the Briton's hair. A mere trimming, nothing that fancy. The "word" fancy didn't really hold any meaning in the world now. It was simply a word, nothing else.

Arthur winced softly when Francis cut a tuft of hair from his bangs. "Did I hurt you, mon Cher?" He questioned, putting a pause on his cutting. The Briton shook his head.

"No... You didn't hurt me at all." Arthur mumbled, lowering his head. "It's just... The last time you did this was when I came home drunk." The Brit paused as a sad smile curled his lips. "You were worried and sitting at the kitchen table since it was extremely late. I was being an idiot and rambled on about who knows what that night."

Francis smiled nostalgically, the memory of that night coming into his mind. It seemed so long ago and so much had changed since then...

"I ended up falling into one of the kitchen chairs, sobbing hysterically because I was remembering what I said to you the night prior. We always argued back then..."Arthur sighed, eyes dulling as the memory played out like an old black-and-white movie. "You had come up behind me where I sat and gently stroked my hair, telling me it was alright and you didn't take anything personally. Nonetheless, I continued to cry like a baby while you continued to comfort me... A-And, you whispered your loving words-" Arthur's voice cracked as he recalled, his eyes growing glossy with tears.

"I whispered, 'Je T'aime, Arthur. Nothing you can say will wound nor hurt me and my heart. My love for you is forevermore and nothing can change that. I'm yours forever, until this old heart ceases to beat.'" Francis finished Arthur's talk, smiling softly as he began to cut away at his hair again. "I remember that night very well. After your little crying scene, you randomly begged me to cut your hair just like how I did when you were younger. At that time, your hair was a neater mess than the mess you have on now." Francis let out a light chuckle. Arthur remained where he sat, staring downwards at his lap.

Both had different ways of dealing with change and past memories. Francis embraced them and enjoyed looking back at the good times and having those old feelings reborn once more. Arthur, on the other hand, didn't enjoy the thought of looking back. Looking back drew out pain and aching for the past. It reminded him of how horrible life was now and how he had no idea where his family is (as in Alfred and Matthew) and how he would never be able to revisit those grand times back when everything was good.

Thud Thud

Growls and noises from the undead were made clear by the front door, their voices muffled through the solid wood. The Briton flinched at the sound, cringing as it rang in his ears. He hated that sound. He hated biters. He hated the world he lived in now. He wanted it all to go back to where it was. Francis sighed and set down his rusty scissors beside Arthur's feet.

"I'll go get rid of them." The Frenchman said reassuringly, looking over at the Englishman. "It sounds like one so it'll be over before you know it." Arthur nodded slowly, narrowing eyes over at the door. Francis pulled out his trusty knife from his back pocket and walked towards the entrance. He'd killed so many biters now that the thought of killing another one was like nothing. It was like someone having to kill a spider and not thinking back at it when it was over.

He made it towards the door and opened it up, expecting to see one biter. What he received was completely different. When Francis revealed the outside, about five biters came growling and snapping their jaws at him.

"A-Arthur, move away!" Francis shouted, attempting to shut the door to no avail. The biters already had their arms and faces outstretched through the crack of the door. They wanted to get in and Francis knew that they might have their way. Arthur jumped up from his seat, eyes narrowing.

"I'm not just going to have you go against them all!" Arthur retorted, stepping over to the door with his hand wrapping around his own knife. Francis hissed over at him, "Non! I don't want you getting hurt! Don't worry, I got them!" He truly believe that he had the ability and strength to go against them, but of course love distorts someone's views. Francis didn't want Arthur in danger so he put himself in front of it to shield the Briton from it all. Was this smart? Not quite. Was that going to stop him? Not in the slightest.

"Don't you bloody dare attempt to go on your own!" Arthur said, quite appalled that Francis would suggest such a thing. The Frenchman grunted as he continued to try and hold back the biters. The Briton took another step forward toward the man but was immediately shoved backwards.

"Arthur, just go to the farthest wall and stay there!" The blonde said, arms shaking. "I'll hold them off and if any come your way you'll have time to fi-"

Francis' words were cut off when a bony hand grabbed his ankle, making him fall backwards on the floor. The door was pushed open to its full extent as biters trampled in.

"F-Francis!" Arthur cried out, stabbing quickly as biters made their way towards him. They all corrupted his view on Francis, making it impossible to tell if he was alright. No sound came from the Frenchman. He wasn't screaming or letting out any signs of pain. Was that good? That means he wasn't hurt, right? Then why isn't he returning Arthur's shouts?

The Brit stumbled backwards as a biter stretched out a flesh peeling hand in attempts to grab Arthur. It was hopeless. There were too many. This was a herd, not a stray biter that they expected. This was completely different... Usually they would be more alert when opening doors and exposing themselves to danger, but at that moment they were experiencing nostalgia and, for a brief moment, carried the feelings and security they felt when the world hadn't turn to shit.

With a final stab to the head, Arthur drove his knife into the biter's forehead, immediately sending dead weight down to the ground. He panted and stood up, looking about the shop. There were dead bodies everywhere. It trailed from the entrance to where Arthur was and even leading outside. Francis... was not in the shop.

"F-Francis?.." Arthur called out, his voice cracking slightly. He took a shaky step over a dead biter and began walking towards the door. Was he outside? Maybe he led them outside... "Francis? Wh-Where are you?"

No answer.

The Briton felt his heart pound against his ears at every passing second he walked towards the door. What will he see outside? Will Francis greet him? Will he be there? Or will he be...

Arthur peeked his head outside of the shop, hands shaking. He gulped and called out, "F-Francis? For Pete's sake, answer back will you? Th-There's no more biters inside.." Again, no answer. The Englishman felt a chill run through him as he began to think of the unwanted assumptions. What if he was... no.. No, he couldn't be. That wasn't like Francis. He wouldn't allow himself to die in such a way. He would've made it elaborate and flamboyant such as his personality. Desperate now, Arthur called out again.

"F-Francis!" Arthur said, his voice cracking at the thought of his beloved dead crossed his mind. "Francis please answer me!" Silence was all that was spoken after Arthur's plea. It was almost as if the world had frozen in time and Arthur was the only one moving. That he was the only one alive on Earth. That only he could be the one to make a living movement...

Suddenly, footsteps were heard from around the corner of the little shelter they were in. Arthur whipped around and saw Francis stumbling over to him, his clothes coated with dirt and blood.

"F-Francis!" Arthur exclaimed, running over and immediately wrapping his arms around the man and burying his face in his chest. Francis' eyes widened as he let out a light laugh and hugged back. His laugh faltered a bit when he heard muffled sobs break against his chest.

"Arthur?... Why are you crying?" The Frenchman questioned, looking at the Englishman. Arthur shook his head vigorously as more loud cries escaped his lips. After a moment, he looked over at Francis with tear-filled emerald eyes.

"I-I thought you bloody died!" The Briton shouted, his voice breaking underneath the weight of his tears. "Y-You didn't answer back a-and I didn't kn-know where you were! I th-thought you were k-killed and I w-would've never g-gotten to say g-goodbye or s-save you and I-I would never be able to l-live with myself if that happened because I care s-so much about y-you and- you're s-such a bloody git for s-scaring me like that!" Arthur broke into hysterics once more, his tears mixing in with the filth on Francis' shirt. The Frenchman looked down and hugged Arthur back tightly, reassuring him that he was right there with him.

"Shh... Don't cry, Angleterre." Francis said in a soft, gentle voice. He wiped some of Arthur tears out of his face and brushed some hair away as well. "You don't have to worry about that, okay? I'm alive and well now, and I'm not leaving you anytime soon..." The Frenchman planted a light kiss on the Brit's head, smiling as he did so.

That was a somewhat lie, and Francis knew it. No, he wasn't killed or eaten by the biters... but he was scratched. Francis glanced down at his palm. A deep cut bled a little stream of blood that dripped onto the floor. Quickly, he turned his palm over so Arthur couldn't see it.

When one is bit, scratched, or in any way exposed to a biter, it's only a matter of time before they walk the path of death.

Author's Note:

Wow! A whole month's passed since my last update. I'm so sorry for the wait. I've been working on my Lonely Sunflower one w

Anyways, I hope you like this chapter!
Please leave your feedback in the comments/reviews!