A/N: I'd like to dedicate this one-shot to my sarcastic partner in crime on this website, otherwise known as Shutupyoureperfect. Thanks, my dudette. Your insistence on the FrUk ship, and my apparently wrong spelling of it, inspired this piece!

Hmmm. You can probably expect a GerIta one-shot from me sometime soon. Just let me drag my way through midterms first aha.

6 Feet Higher:

I wasn't having much luck in falling asleep, let alone remaining so. An uncomfortable feeling had been churning in my gut all day long, and the evening darkness only seemed to amplify these instincts. I turned on my side, fluttering my eyes open in annoyance when I felt the familiar presence of Amelia Jones hover over my bed.

I looked up to meet startling blue eyes and a wide, toothy grin. Amelia floated in the air above me, her shoulder-length blonde hair rustling from the wind outside. It was summer and I typically left my bedroom window open on humid nights like this. "Arthur! Arthur!" she cried. "Wake uppppp!"

It should be noted that Amelia was a ghost. Yes, you heard me correctly; a ghost. I was one of the few people in this world who had the ability to communicate with those who had passed on. My spiritual energy was much higher than the norm, which frequently made me a magnet for spirits who were lost and in need of guidance to the other side. You can probably assume that most of my friends were dead as opposed to living, naturally.

Most of my time was spent helping spirits who were experiencing extreme episodes of distress and frustration. Passing on created a lot of disorientation and grief on the part of the soul, you see. Some spirits were much easier to deal with than others. I've had my fair share of experiences with souls who have vehemently, and sometimes violently, refused to acknowledge their own death.

Acknowledgement was only one step of the process, however. After acknowledgement, it was imperative to sever the tie(s) that bound a person's soul to the Earth. These ties were most often connected to regret, such as never confessing one's love to a significant other and straight out denial, or in some cases, a stubborn will to remain on the Earth as a guardian of sorts.

The latter reason was seen in Amelia's case. Amelia was a bright, optimistic eight-year old girl who had tragically passed away sometime during the 1970s. She had never outright told me the exact details of her death, mainly because she was still too uncomfortable to talk about it, but I had done some research on my own to find out that she had passed away attempting to save her twin sister from drowning in the town's local creek. The girl proclaimed herself to be a hero, and although I whole heartedly agreed with this sentiment, it was saddening to know that her suffering had never truly ended upon her passing.

Spirits don't mature past the age in which they had died. This meant that Amelia remained in a permanent state of naivety and childish jealousy. She had been left with nothing to do but to watch her sister grow up, get married, have children, and basically live on without her. And although Amelia had never said this to me directly, I could tell that this bothered her significantly. Amelia, in both life and death, had committed herself to protecting her sister, but as the years went by, it appeared that this very protection was no longer necessary.

Her sister now had a family of her own to stand by her side. The ghost of her late sister was hardly ever mentioned or thought about anymore. It was an omen that had been shoved under the much heavier rug of happiness and a deliberate suppression of the past.

I've tried talking some sense into Amelia, but there was absolutely no reasoning with this girl. She truly believed that it was still her job to watch over her sister. And who was I to ruin the one thing that instilled purpose in her otherwise woeful existence? I had come to care for her far too much to take away from what little hope she still had.

Amelia was like a little sister to me, albeit an annoying one. We had met under presumably amusing circumstances. She had had a nasty habit of pranking toddlers at the local park, you see. And after giving her a nasty scolding for stomping on some poor kid's sandcastle, Amelia was pretty much tied to my hip. She had been fixated on the fact that someone alive and real was actually able to see her. I couldn't blame the girl, after all. Her creating havoc in the park was simply a way of externalizing the frustration that she had been bottling up for years on end. I was the one person who she could look forward to seeing every day. She no longer lived in a world of silence, but rather she had finally found a friend who she could confide in, and most often enough, pester the godamn shit out of.

I pressed the back of my hand to my forehead and groaned. "What do you want, Amelia?"

Amelia huffed and crossed her arms. "There's a new boy at the creek and he won't leave!" she fumed.

"Huh?" I asked, and oh so brilliantly at that. My mind was muddled due to still being half-asleep. There was also the fact that it was three in the bloody morning. I reluctantly sat up and scowled when I felt the blood rush to the back of my head.

Amelia's face reddened. I waved her off with a dismissive flick of the hand. "Alright, alright. No need to blow a casket." Amelia's face then darkened, causing me to pale at the unintentional rudeness of my joke.

"Sorry, sorry," I chuckled nervously. "Bad joke, I suppose?"

Amelia bit her lip. "Buttface," she mumbled.

"What was that?" I inquired with raised brows.

"Nothing," Amelia hummed, floating closer so that she hovered right before my face. "So how about that boy? Are you going to help me or not?"

I sighed out of annoyance. "Can't this wait until the morning?"

Amelia whimpered. "N-no! He got really mad at m-me when I…uh" the American girl trailed off, paling considerably for a ghost.

"When you what?" I deadpanned. Putting together the pieces of what little information that she had given to me thus far, it appeared as if Amelia had encountered a newly passed spirit. Typically, these spirits were very easily agitated, and having a pesky territorial spirit like Amelia scream in their ears certainly wouldn't help with de-escalating the situation.

Amelia pulled away, guiltily bowing her head to the ground. "I told him that he was dead…"

"You what?!" I roared. "Amelia! How many times have I told you not to do that?! That's the last thing that you should ever tell a spirit! Now he's probably even more confused and disoriented than before!"

"Argh!" I brought both hands to my face. "Why didn't you come to me first?" Informing a spirit of their passing was supposed to be a delicate process. It was never something to be abruptly thrust onto someone. I now had Amelia's impulsiveness to thank for this giant mess.

"I thought that I could handle him!"

"You're eight years old. You can't even handle the sight of your own reflection," I deadpanned.

Amelia's lips trembled. "Ghosts are scary, okay?!" Her voice was becoming increasingly high strung. If I didn't watch it, she would more than likely burst into tears. Lord help me if that happened.

I sighed. "Whatever. Exist in constant denial. See if I care."

"Well at least I don't have to live with caterpillars for eyebrows!"

"Oh real mature, Amelia," I scoffed.

"You said it yourself. I'm eight! I don't have to be mature…stupid head!"

Amelia snickered, while I tiredly rubbed at my eyes.

Amelia quickly grew bored when I didn't show any reaction to her childish insult. She then pouted and aimed me a lewd look. "Please?" she asked through pressed lips. "I could really use your help, Arthur."

I succumbed under the pressure of her puppy dog eyes far too quickly. "I don't have much of a choice, now do I?" I tutted.

Amelia's grin returned. "Nope~!"

I smirked. "Thought so." I shuffled out of bed and padded over to my wardrobe, pulling out a dark green hoodie. It was a good thing I had worn a pair of shorts to bed. The last thing that I needed right now was to have Amelia traumatized by the sight of my scrawny chicken legs.

I shrugged on the hoodie while Amelia nervously flew back and forth across my room, the spirit equivalent of pacing. "Do you know anything about the boy? A name perhaps?"

Amelia paused and shook her head. "All I know is that he first showed up at the creek last night. I think that there was some sort of party going on. He must have drowned…just like I did…" she faltered out of mere shyness. For her sake, I pretended not to hear that last part.

The gears in my brain jolted with a newfound awareness. I remember scrolling through my Facebook feed the other day and reading a news article about a high school senior who had just recently drowned. Our town was small, so it was only a matter of time before the boy's name was released and the word of his death circulated. If I could help it, I would put him to rest before that ever happened. It would save the poor bloke from experiencing the grief of having to watch his friends and loved ones mourn for him. It was quite a pity, really. We were only a month away from graduation. I suppose that this would explain all the parties that had been going on lately.

My feelings of discomfort intensified when I realized that I would most likely be dealing with one of the popular kids from my school. I was what most would refer to as a social outcast. People were weirded out by supernatural abilities. This, in turn, had led to the creation of far scarier rumours that helped to further distance me from the in-crowd.

I sighed out of dread. This situation was almost too awkward for me to bear. I would ironically be lifting a bully, who had mostly likely repeatedly put me down in life, up into heaven.

Amelia floated over to my window, impatiently clicking her tongue as I tried my best to make the least amount of noise possible while I opened it. The young spirit's sunflower dress twitched in pendulum with her increasingly agitated mood. As you can see, her visiting me at night was quite the regular occurrence.

"Oi!" I grunted at her. "Bugger off with that impatient look on your face. I'm going as fast as I can."

I couldn't possibly sneak out through the front door without my older brother, Alistair, catching me as he was currently passed out drunk on the couch downstairs. Leaving the house through the window was my only viable option.

Amelia, with a smug amount of ease, floated out the window. "It's not my fault that you have the athletic skill of a chubby chipmunk!" she called over her shoulder.

I felt an immense urge to facepalm. "What does that even mean?"

Amelia's cheeks stretched into a wide, mischievous grin. "Heck if I know!"

…

It was late, which meant that the cops were no longer investigating the scene. I ducked under the yellow strips of caution tape. I then turned back in confusion when I noticed that Amelia wasn't following after me. The young spirit nervously twirled her hair with her index finger.

"He's really scary," she whispered with wide eyes. "I don't want to go any farther."

I smiled in understanding. "No worries, poppet. Go on now," I shooed at her. "I'll take care of it."

Amelia gave me a grateful smile before she turned on her heels and skipped off into a nearby cluster of bushes. The fading sound of her giggles would never fail to creep me out.

I sighed and walked until I stopped to stand before a large willow tree. The bark of it had long rotted away. Empty beer cans, condom wrappers, and other garbage alike littered the ground. I scoffed out of disgust. It angered me how very little these party-goers cared for the environment. I really shouldn't have expected more from delinquents like them.

The faint, relaxing sound of the trickling stream ahead could be heard. It wasn't long before I spotted a tall figure pacing back and forth along the edge of the creek. He had shoulder length blond hair, was slender in frame, and appeared to be muttering nonsensically under his breath. He was wearing a tight black-t-shirt, fashionably baggy denim capris, black combat boots, and a silver Armani wrist watch that occasionally gleamed in the moonlight depending on his position.

I froze and was quick to duck behind the trunk of the willow tree when I recognized the identity of the person standing by the stream. I furrowed my brows. Francis? What was Francis of all people doing here? Didn't he have better things to do, like oh I don't know, bang every living thing in sight and drink an excessive amount of alcohol?

If it wasn't already obvious to you, Francis and I don't exactly have a very good history together. We were childhood friends who had grown apart as the result of meaningless superficialities. I was always the odd kid out, whereas, Francis was frustratingly likeable and attractive.

We fought tooth and nail most of the time, and yet, we always seemed to gravitate back towards the other. More than that, we were polar opposites. But it was these differences that had made our friendship so strong in the first place. We said that we hated other, when in actuality the moment that the other was threatened or in need of support, we would reconcile, put aside our differences, and work together. Francis was the closest thing to a best friend that I've ever had. I cared deeply for that twat, and it's just unfortunate that he didn't reciprocate these feelings. Who knows. If he hadn't turned into such a dick, perhaps we could have been more than friends.

High school had erased any possibility of that, however. Francis was no longer Francis. He cared more about his popularity than he did about our friendship. All of a sudden he couldn't be seen with me, the kid who talked to ghosts and allegedly cursed everyone that he spoke to. He had moved on, leaving me behind as if I were nothing more than a pesky nuisance that needed to be crushed under the sole of his new persona. What hurt me the most was the fact that I had been so easily replaced.

It wasn't long before Francis had made new friends that were similar in both interests and looks. He attended more and more parties, drinking and readily doing drugs of all kinds. I intervened and warned him of his impulsiveness many times over, but of course he never listened to me. He didn't want to hear what I had to say. I was irrelevant in his grand scheme of fun and reckless decisions. Our last fight had ended with me warning him that if he wasn't careful, he would soon find himself six feet under. We haven't spoken since. Regardless, this didn't mean that we haven't had our fair share of encounters.

His friends relentlessly teased and bullied me for my perceived differences. Francis simply stood there and watched, which only infuriated me more. To be neutral, is to participate, and I couldn't possibly forgive him for being so bloody ignorant. My best friend was a stranger, a stranger who I had no interest in speaking to ever again.

I cussed under my breath when I accidently stepped on a twig. Francis turned around. "Hello?" He asked. "Is anyone there?"

I held my breath and kept silent.

I could practically hear the smirk in Francis's tone of voice. "Come now, no need to be shy," he purred, irritatingly milking out his slight French accent. "I'm actually quite lost right now. I would very much appreciate it if you could help me out."

I rolled my eyes and stepped out from my hiding place. Knowing that idiot, he wouldn't relent with his pestering until he finally got his way. "What are you doing here, Francis?" I groaned. "Did the strip club close down early for the night?"

Francis's smile fell when his blue eyes latched onto my much shorter figure. My face burned subconsciously. I quickly diverted eye contact and looked down at the garbage-happy grass bed. Francis had a talent for making those around him feel inferior.

"Angleterre," he sneered. "Pleasant as always, I see. And if you must know, I'm looking for my friends. Antonio was supposed to host a BYOB bush party here tonight, but it appears that I've mixed up the meeting location."

"How tragic," I scoffed. "I wonder what sketchy place you guys will have a party at next. A grave yard perhaps? I mean really, who in their right fucking mind would host a party at a recent drowning site?"

Francis frowned in confusion. "What in God's name are you going on about now?"

"A kid drowned here yesterday, Francis." I turned my back to the ogle-eyed Frenchman. "Now if you'll please excuse me, I have something far more important to do than bicker with a questionably sober nobody like you."

"Oh please," Francis rolled his eyes. "If anything, you're the nobody who came out here on your own."

I grit my teeth, and against my better judgement, I turned back around. "Says the bloke who's currently alone with no idea where he is!"

Francis gave me a blank-stare in response, looking confused. He pursed his lips in deep thought, and it was only when his body agitatedly flickered in and out of view that everything clicked together. It all made perfectly horrible sense now.

Francis was the one who had died last night. It was the only possible solution. It would explain why his memory so short-tracked and limited. It would also explain why he had gotten so angry at Amelia for telling him that he was dead. Francis didn't know that he was dead. He was stuck roaming around the place of his death in a permanent state of confusion and disorientation.

Francis said something in retort.

His words fell on deaf ears.

I choked and parted my mouth open in horror. My best friend was dead. Acknowledging this was far too much for my grief-stricken mind to handle. My vision narrowed and a wave of nausea stirred up in my stomach. My legs, weak and unable to support the impossibly heavy weight of sorrow, caved in, causing me to fall to the ground with a defeated thud, my knees pressing deep into the soft soil bed below.

I couldn't believe it. What I wouldn't give to have been proven wrong about him. But here I was now, kneeling on the ground in front of my very oblivious and very obviously dead friend.

"Y-you…i-idiot!" I sobbed.

Francis gasped a little when he spotted the hot, uncontrollable tears that were presently streaming down my face. The Frenchman brought a hand to the back of his neck and gave me a guilty look. "Aw, come on. I was only kidding, Arthur. No need to be so sensitive," he chuckled nervously, a slight pink tinge playing onto his cheekbones.

I pounded a fist against the ground, causing clumps of dirt to fly everywhere. "You just don't get it, do you?" I screeched. "Don't you see? You're dead Francis! You were the one who drowned last night!"

I didn't care that what I was doing was extremely reckless. My frustration had overtaken any sense of reason. I was furious. Francis had his whole life ahead of him and he just had to ruin it all by drowning in both alcohol and the murky brown water of the creek. I couldn't stand the sight of him. His ghost was a standing reminder of my failure. I couldn't help but wonder if I could have done something more to prevent this. I was now paralyzed by these thoughts, rendered speechless by the feelings of guilt that subsequently went along with them.

Francis shook his head and walked over to stand beside me. "Wow," he whistled. "I knew that you were crazy, but not this crazy. I'm not dead, you fool. I wouldn't be standing here otherwise. This ghost obsession of yours has gotten way out of hand."

I let my anger get the best of me again. I stood up abruptly, causing Francis to take a few cautionary steps back. I still nonetheless trudged forward. Words weren't going to make him believe anything unless I physically showed him the consequences of his mistakes. He was too godamn prideful and stubborn to believe me otherwise.

"If you're not dead," I growled. "Then how exactly do you explain this?!" I hissed as I waved my hand straight through Francis's chest.

The Frenchman stumbled backwards, the figurative blood draining from his face. "N-non. I-it can't be…I…remember going to the party and drinking and…" Francis's eyes widened as the memories from the night prior flashed through his mind in a devastatingly quick sequence.

I bowed my head and sobbed while Francis futilely screamed, shouted and punched at the air. I don't know when, but sometime in the midst of this chaos, I had fallen down to kneel on the ground again.

"NON! NON! I'M NOT DEAD! I CAN'T BE! I'M STILL TOO YOUNG!"

"CE N'EST PAS VRAI!"

"IT'S NOT FAIR!"

"WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?!"

"WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS?!"

Shouts, followed by even more shouts. It was utterly traumatizing to listen to.

"I-I can't possibly…b-be dead…I don't…b-believe it." Francis's defeated tone woefully contradicted this very statement.

THUD!

I looked to my left and saw that Francis had slumped to sit down next to me. His chests wracked up with sobs, but no sounds came out of it. He had done his screaming. It was now time to mourn.

It felt like hours before he had finally decided to say something.

"Why are you here, Arthur?" he croaked. It broke my heart to see someone as strong and confident as him be reduced to such a vulnerable and weak state. It didn't suit him at all.

I angrily rubbed at my eyes with the sleeve of my sweater. "I'm able to speak to ghosts, remember?" I sniffed. "I was notified about the presence of a troubled spirit in the area. I came here to see if there was anything that I could do to help."

Francis moved his hand to grab at a clump of grass, only to scowl when the blades slipped right through his fingers.

"You really weren't kidding when you said that you could see ghosts," he murmured.

I swallowed bitterly. "Funny how you believe me now of all times."

Francis's facial expression fell. "I'm so sorry Arthur, really I am. If I would have known, I wouldn't have…"

"Been such a dick about it?" I finished for him.

"Oui, I deserved that," Francis amended. "So what now? How are you supposed to help me?"

"Well," I sighed. "There's something that's keeping your soul bound here to the Earth."

"Like a regret?" Francis asked.

"Yes, actually," I conceded, a bit taken aback by his knowledge and understanding of the subject.

"Most often enough it's the guilt caused by a regret that prevents a spirit from moving on to the other side."

"Ah, I see," Francis hummed.

"Was there something that you never got a chance to apologize for?"

Francis made no indication of responding.

I pondered for a moment. "Perhaps a person that you didn't get to say a proper goodbye to?" I suggested again.

It was far too quiet to stop me from rambling on at this point.

"Or how about a person that you didn't get to confess your true feelings to?" I asked, blushing slightly, but thankfully it was too dark outside for Francis to notice.

"Bloody hell, Francis," I groaned. "Work with me here. I can't help you if you don't say anything."

Francis nervously fidgeted with his hands. "All of them."

I coughed. "Excuse me?"

"All of them. All of those regrets apply to me."

"Er…" I started awkwardly. "Care to elaborate?"

Francis turned his head to the side and blushed. "I can't," he mumbled.

"And why is that?!" I snapped.

A helpless expression crossed over Francis's face. "Because you wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

Francis stubbornly stuck out his stubble-covered chin. "Non!"

I instinctively reached out to place a hand on Francis's shoulders, wincing when my hand went right through it. "Alright," I huffed, shrugging nonchalantly all the while. "Stay here and be miserable for the rest of your existence then. I can't force you into saying something that you don't want to."

Francis's lips twitched. He scooted closer towards me and turned his torso so that I was looking straight into the irises of his glistening blue eyes. "Ta Guele!" he cursed. "It's not that I don't want to say it because I do!"

"Then say it already, damn you!" I roared.

Francis sighed. "I'm in love with someone who despises my very existence."

My eyes widened in confusion. "I-I don't understand…"

Francis slammed a fist against the ground. "Now it is you who is blind! Je t'aime, Arthur! Ever since I first laid my eyes on you I've hopelessly been in love! I've fallen for your bright green eyes, that insufferably sarcastic grin of yours, and that ramped bird's nest that you call hair! I've just been too afraid to admit these feelings to you, but now that I'm dead, I have nothing more to lose. Hate me if want, but just know that I've never regretted anything more than letting you go!"

A single tear trickled down my chin. "Stop being such a cheeky bastard!" I growled. "I swear to God if you're lying to me right now I'll-!"

"I'm not lying to you, you insufferable Brit! I left you because I thought that you deserved better."

I wasn't about to take any of his crap. "You ditched me!" I screamed, my voice wavering and cracking with hurt. "You left me at the time when I needed you most! Do you have any idea how horrible it was for me to lose the one person in this world who made it worth getting up in the morning? Why, Francis? What could have possibly motivated you to abandon me like that?"

"Are you even listening to me?!" Francis shouted back. "I left because I was scared! I was terrified of the possibility that you wouldn't return my feelings!"

"So your only solution was to leave me to suffer on my own?!"

Francis jolted as if I had just stabbed a knife through his chest.

"F-fuck!" I spat. "I don't…hate you."

I curled my hands into tight fists. It was now or never.

"I love you too, you fucking idiot!"

"P-pardonne?" Francis stammered.

"You heard me, you wine-drinking pansy! I love you, damnit! I always have!"

Francis smirked. "Only you would insult me during a love confession," he mused, looking far more relieved than before.

I hugged my knees to my chest and buried my face in them. "I hate you so much," I grumbled, blushing profusely. I'm just full of contradictions, aren't I?

Francis let out a loathsome sigh. "Arthur?"

"What?!"

"Look at me."

"I'm fine right here, thanks," I sniffed.

"Please?"

I slowly straightened up, refusing to look Francis directly in his smug blue eyes.

"I'm sorry for leaving," Francis bit his lip. "And for every horrible thing that happened to you after that. I was selfish and shallow, I'll admit. You were the one person who ever called me out for it, and for that I thank you."

"You can consider yourself forgiven," I breathed out, suddenly feeling very heavy chested. "I now know that you've never meant to cause me any harm."

Francis gasped when a pulse of white light erupted from his chest. The light soon spread, wrapping around to cover his entire body. The Frenchman was then lifted from his seated position on the ground.

The regret that bound his soul to the Earth had just been severed.

Francis struggled to gain his balance as he hovered a couple feet in the air. I stood up from the ground to meet his gaze. We both reached out for each other, solemnly knowing that this would be our final goodbye.

"Non!" Francis cried out, waving his hand straight through mine. "Please! Just give me a few more minutes!"

I shook my head in disbelief, smiling despite the fact that I was crying again. "You can't negotiate your time on Earth, moron. If it's time for you to go, then it's time for you to go."

Francis grinned. A warm wind brushed over me, conveniently pushing back the bangs that were previously covering my eyes. "Ah! How I'm going to miss your rudeness! Not to mention those horrendous eyebrows!" he snickered.

I blinked real hard at him, thoroughly unamused.

Francis pursed his lips.

"W-what are you doing?" I spluttered.

"Making sure that I never forget those beautiful emerald eyes of yours."

My face reddened indefinitely. I let my hand numbly drop back to my side. "S-shut it…you…" I focused my gaze away from Francis, spotting a frog hopping along the edge of the stream.

"…You stupid frog!"

"Frog?! Ohonhonhon. Well that's certainly a new one~!" Francis sang.

The Frenchman was slowly being lifted higher and higher into the air at this point.

Francis's laughter died down. "Adieu. May we meet again some day," he said in a sombre voice.

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. "Even in your last moments, you're still a hopeless romantic."

Francis bit down on his annoyance. "Je t'aime, Arthur," he said one last time.

"I love you too, Francis."

"Hmmm. I wonder if they have any strip clubs in heaven…"

"You pervert! Of course they don't!"

"Le boo. Heaven sucks!"

"Just be grateful that you're not being sent to hell!"

"Speaking to you is my personal hell!"

We pretty much bickered back and forth until Francis eventually floated out of sight. By the end of it all, I was surprised that no one had decided to call the cops. I had been screaming loud enough to wake up the entire town.

Hardly able to stand, I trudged over to the willow tree and slumped down to rest my back against the roughly-textured trunk. I then looked up high into the sky, letting out a shuddering breath as the evening stars twinkled before me.

I let myself smile in the memory of my first true love.

"See you in sixty years, old chap."

~The End~