C'est La Vie

Human names used.

Warning: Major ANGST. Death. AU.

#06 Absence

He promised.

It was their three-year anniversary.

He promised he would be there. Francis promised. He even sealed it with gentle kisses on Arthur's burning cheek that morning.

It had been three years. Three bloody long years. Arthur would still get that heart-throbbing feeling every time Francis leaned close to him. He would pretend not to like the intimate actions, but secretly loving every moment of it, willing the taller blond to go away with fake, powerless punches. Francis would always smile lovingly and comment on how mignon his British lover looked, and how much he just wanted to pin him onto their bed right then and there – despite half of the time these conversations were made in public places.

In all honesty, Arthur didn't mind those constant sultry remarks and suggestive winks and groping that his French boyfriend did. He only didn't want to give Francis too much liberty, in case he took it for granted.

But now, he would do anything, absolutely anything, for another hug that was a just little too touchy-feely, or one of his gentle and full-of-love goodnight kisses that Francis would give him before he turned the bedside lamp off every night.

There wasn't anything he wouldn't give to exchange the limp, lifeless body in front of him- the beautiful form of his boyfriend- that he could not bear to move a muscle to have a closer look at.

Why was life so cruel to him?

He looked up at the blood red vista of the setting sun, hearing the approaching sound of sirens, his knees stuck stubbornly to the ground.

A stray tear found its way out of his emerald eyes, rolling down Arthur's pale, cold cheek.

He had no idea how me made it back on the bed he and Francis used to share.

Their room, their apartment, their home. Everything around him made him painfully aware that he could no longer do the things he loved with his beloved anymore.

Sitting with his back slumped across the concrete wall, Arthur pulled the blanket over his shoulders. His hands were shaking under the cover. The bed felt so cold without the annoying embrace of the Frenchman. The worse thing was, Francis' scent was agonizingly apparent. It not only occurred in the bedroom, but every single room of the house.

Arthur did, for a moment, try convincing himself that Francis would come back. If he just waited a little longer, if he just pushed open the curtains, if he just opened the door; he would find the amorous man smiling graciously at him, ready to send him warm shivers with those strong arms and soft lips of his.

But no. He knew that Francis would never show again. The sinking feeling of losing the one he loved most in the world was dragging his heart down to a place where it can no longer be retrieved.

'Stupid frog... You said...you said... you'd never leave me.'

It was only this morning did Francis wake him up with a blow on the back of his neck and the working on an apparent hickey there, make him breakfast, kiss both his cheeks before stepping out the door to get to work, and call Arthur as soon as he arrived at the office, saying how much he wanted to see him already. Francis had been so disappointed that he was not able to negotiate for a day off on their anniversary, when Arthur already did so. Arthur had heard him whisper heartfelt apologies over and over again; he really had not been mad at the Frenchman at all. Work was always important, and it wasn't even his fault that his boss was so strict. Yet, he was acting as if he was exceedingly angry so Francis would give him kisses with every single 'Désolé' and spend more time 'arguing' with him (which usually ended up with both of them in bed or other ridiculous places somehow, but that's another story). He found that apologetic frown on Francis' brows along with the husky voice he spoke to him in, adorably capturing (not that he would admit that he ever found anything 'adorable' on that man).

Therefore, when Francis found out that he couldn't even leave early from work to make Arthur a romantic candlelight dinner, he had immediately booked a table from a nice Italian restaurant that his old schoolmate owned (Arthur said he was 'sick' of French cuisine). He was so excited when he was finally able to leave the stuffy working place and climb into his car, heading to see Arthur. He was so, so excited, because there was something more to this celebration of the three-year mile stone in their relationship. There was a little surprise, and a simple question that he had prepared for Arthur after the meal. So he had to make the whole dinner experience absolutely parfait, to build up the mood.

But someone else on the road was obviously more excited than he was.

Some single-celled, brainless fucking son of a bitch with a bloody Learner's license was fucking speeding- with a phone in his hand.

When he saw that kid with an incredulous look on his face as he shakily stumbled out of his car after crashing Francis' into a useless piece of steel, Arthur was murderous. If it wasn't for Matthew, both Francis and Arthur's best friend, who had hurried to the scene and kept him in his place, Arthur would've stood up despite himself, and punch that idiot mercilessly in the guts.

It was probably also thanks to Matthew that Arthur could even arrive home in one piece in that fragile, broken state he was in.

For an unknown number of times of the night, Arthur's bloodshot eyes became teary as past memories crept up at the back of his mind, stabbing him pointlessly with a glaringly burning pain called regret.

If only he could do all those things again- all those things that he had done in denial- and relive the moments.

He would have smothered Francis with the love he had for him, which was most certainly as deep as, if not more, than the amour Francis had expressed that he felt towards him. He should have lavished countless kisses on his boyfriend – who always adored it when Arthur initiated things first – showing him exactly how much, how very much, he cared.

Especially last night, the night just before their special date, when Francis eagerly pressed his body close to his on the very same bed he was in now. He should have spent time listening to and whisper back the sweet nothings the taller blond said to him soothingly, after they had so passionately made love to each other.

If he had only known what was going to happen today, hell, he would even have spoken French to him like he nagged him to for all those years. How hard was that two-syllable 'I love you' in his proclaimed language of love anyway? He would've done all those instead of pretending to fall asleep and elbowing him away. Pushing that insistent man away had always been the easiest thing to do, almost like a reflex; but since when had it gotten so pitifully difficult to even try to reach out to him and pull him back close?

He clutched a purple lovehear plushie- the one that Francis bought for him from Paris- tighter to his heart; feeling completely, despairingly empty inside, he sniffled hard. He missed Francis' warm breath against his skin as he sighed in his sleep. He missed the muscular chest pressing against his back firmly as Francis held him in his arms protectively, plainly saying that he was never letting go of his Arthur.

Yet Francis had no choice but to.

And to think, all these had only happened last night. It appeared to him that last evening seemed like a it was a year ago.

Arthur brought up a hand to his cheeks, wiping away the dripping tears, thinking no one else would do the job for him anymore. No one would be there to dry his defiant tears with a swift sweep of the thumb, topped with soft, sensual kisses over every inch of his face, before giving him frantic kisses with velvet lips to make him forget whatever it was that had upset him in the first place.

Not anymore.

He slid downwards, burrying himself further into the blanket. Rolling over to the side, he slept on Francis' pillow and smell the familiar mixture of body wash and cologne that lingered around. He wanted to sleep. All the sobbing worn him out. But he couldn't sleep at all. If he even so much as closed his eyes longer than a blink, his imagination of what Francis and he should have been doing on a night like this would run wild. And he would lose more of the little control he had over his unstoppable faucet of tears.

Just when he was trying to lie facing the ceiling, more-or-less comfortably without the Frenchman's touch, the back of his head hit something strangely hard and square-shaped.

He quickly turned around, noticing a foreign object tucked in between their two pillows. Arthur reached out to it in utter curiosity, and gasped as he realized that it was a small red box wrapped around with a white ribbon. Hesitantly, he fingered the ribbon and studied the box, wondering if he should find out what it was.

With shaking hands, he made that final decision and pulled the ends of the fabric which came undone easily.

Could it have been Francis' anniversary present for him?

Probably something naughty again!

A faint smile ghosted on Arthur's lips as he remembered the signature horny self that Francis was, and his constant attempts to 'spice things up a little'.

He had to blink a few times to get out the tears that collected in his tired green eyes, usually beautiful – they were why he had tombé amoureux with Arthur, Francis always says… said.

Francis had really hated it when Arthur cried. It ruined the most amazing feature of him, he thought. That was why he would scurry over to Arthur as soon as the first tear formed, and took so much care in cheering up his lover.

He detested anything that made Arthur's green eyes go dull and stressed, even if for just a moment. He would really have disliked himself right then, uncharacteristically.

If only Arthur knew.

Francis would rather he look up to the heavens and show him those gorgeous smiling eyes.

Inhaling lightly, Arthur prepared to open what was most probably the last gift Francis could ever give him.

He caught his breath as the box was opened.

A pink note was tucked to the inner corner of the lid. It said in the unmistakable cursive writing:

Mon tres cher Arthur, my one and only love,

Je t'aime tellement.

Yours forever, Francis.

He could almost hear hin say those words.

Arthur, holding back the streaming tears and the hiccups, looked down at the main content of the box. There, in the white cushioning, sat something he had never ever dreamed of receiving. He felt so pathetic as the only reaction he had was to let those teardrops escape, and hit his trembling hands.

It was a silver ring with a sparkling blue diamond.

Blue like the peaceful sea; blue like the majestic sky.

Blue like his lost love, his precious Francis' tender eyes.

Later that night, the whole world seemed to have fallen silent to accompany Arthur's grieving.

In a small apartment in south London, a downhearted whimper could be heard.

'Francis...I

...I do.'

A/N:

Waaaaaaaaaah I had no idea what came over me and I wrote this. Probably because I wasn't in too good a mood either.

This is the longest one-shot so far! And I can't believe I did something this depressing for the first long one.

I'm sorry Francis, come back to life! We need you….Iggy needs you!

Hope it wasn't OOC.

Thank you for reading!