How ironic it seems, looking back, that it took a tragedy to bring them together again. Look for me in the sky, he wrote, remember what we shared before life killed me. The words seal his fate and Arthur clutches the letter, howls his regret as if his words could turn back time and revive his oldest friend. The night is silent and gray. Arthur looks, but he still sees nothing. FrUk

Arthur-

It seems that were only together in the face of adversity

And

It seems you cannot rely on the man who was always by your side.

All those years I supported you

All those years with no reply

And now you're off chasing rainbows

And I was here all this time, waiting, waiting...

Nothing but a man that wasted his days pinning away

And suddenly the future wasn't as bright as it was ten years ago

Oh no no Nononono…. This isn't what he thinks it is. This isn't his fault.

I'm tired

I'm cold

I'm being honest

This isn't happening. Someone tell him it isn't real. Tell him he's dreaming. Wake him up. His eyes keep reading, his mind has grinded to a halt, reeling, stuttering, stalling. He forces himself to go on, he has to do it.

The darkest days are spent by your side

And with you

They suddenly seem all the brighter

And the red dawn was shining

And we were together

And when I'm with you

We understand

Oh God no…

All you have for me now is poisonous words and sarcastic teasing

But

I can remember a time when the words you spoke were so gently and softly casted

That I could hardly believe they were all for me

That we might be something beyond

Whatever this is

Something in between

Love and hate

Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, his breath coming out in gasps as he fights the onslaught of tears. He lets out a choked sob, clamping his hand over his mouth, wanting to keel into himself and close his eyes, wish it all away…. Arthur was a fool. And he cries because this is all his fault. He is kneeling at his oldest friend's tombstone….

(And he knows why Francis has suffered)

And suddenly you don't know how to treat me

And suddenly were spitting insults to ears that should be deaf from all the screaming

Hissing cruel words upon soft lips

That once murmured the phrases I now hold so dear

Arthur killed him. He's a murderer. Did they really have to fight so much? Is this how Francis remembers him? His tears are spilling onto the page. How did this happen?

Words spoken with malice, careful banter as to not cross an imaginary line

And an unraveling thread of fate rolling down your cheeks

And calloused hardly hands

So cautiously, they caress

So gently, they join

Your heart and mine

Face cold and dead and expressionless- skin pale and stark against a faded white tuxedo. Hair dead and limp and his eyes are closed, they'll never open again. Arthur will never see them laugh; Arthur will never see them cry. He wishes for a closed casket funeral instead.

A fragile dream shimming as I held my breath

As if I feared the wisps of breathe on a cold December morning

Could cause it to dissipate in the frosty atmosphere

Could chase away a bond so carefully crafted

A thought I hold close

Born on a rainy April morning

On that corner street cafe

On a day I still had hope

Arthur dreams of him, roses in one hand, and a rope in the other. He holds them out for Arthur to choose as the words of his note repeat in the background, a haunting mantra he cannot shake. Francis's lips are parted and bloody, his eyes are icy and dead and he stares, because they both know Arthur is to blame.

And Arthur makes the wrong choice once again.

On that day, I allowed myself to believe

If only for a little

That we could be something more than this

And I wanted to believe

That I could hold you again

To clutch a warmth so close

And never let it go

A distant memory of a drunken steamy night when they both were young and foolish, before he knew the horrors of the world, before he had any humility to change his mind. Tangled sheets, sweaty limbs, and his eyes see only Francis- His dreams were sweet of honey and silk, and he wakes to a cold mattress and a note inviting him to breakfast.

And Arthur runs away.

Bring us back to the day

Before we were enemies

Before there was hate

When I could stand tall

And never dream to fear a thing

When I did not know pain

And thought I never would have to

Francis said nothing the next time they met; Arthur expects awkwardness and stolen glances, burning curiosity and hasty excuses. But Francis says nothing, And Arthur is relieved. Looking back, allowing Francis to return to an empty room without an explanation must have hurt him beyond belief.

Arthur was heartless. He took Francis for granted.

Hands soft and hair clean

Skin unblemished and chests unmarred

By pain and rage and sadness

And nothing could touch us

And I was not afraid

Of anything

At all

Alfred stays by his side throughout it all and while Arthur should be grateful, he can't stop thinking, he can't stop hearing the words in his head. (Oh, god why, how could I let this happen?)

He's guilty. He's tired. He wants to go home. He wants to wake up in February a week before Valentine's Day, think about Alfred, never get a phone call from Matthew, and never have to face this. He wants to go to the store and continue to forget about his childhood friend like he never mattered at all and he wants to buy cheap chocolates for Alfred and never spare anyone else a thought and never think of anyone but himself.

Maybe if my agony was greater than my anger

Maybe if my enemy was bigger than my apathy

Maybe if I held on to a warm summer day spent beneath the trees

Before the child constructed weapons to kill

Before regret was a bloodied smear across my brow

I dreamt of a time we spent of mud paintings beneath the willow

And a child named Arthur

And a game called destiny

I was free

And I was happy

Because I was with you

And you were with me

Together

Arthur is selfish. He doesn't want to wake up and have his heart slip away and come crashing down to the floor, he doesn't want Matthew's voice to bring him to his knees. He doesn't want to hear the words, face the onslaught of the damn memories, the frantic questions and choking horror and (Oh, my God, he's dead, rope for a necklace and soon he'll be six feet under and I had no idea, I was going to bed in a home but not so and Francis was tying a noose-)

And he doesn't want to have a sleepy Alfred jolted awake and, prying the phone from his grasp, pleading with Arthur to let it go because he's holding it like a lifeline and his knuckles are turning white and something's about to break. Alfred talks in a hushed, frantic tone, and maybe if Arthur closes his eyes and clamps his ears shut, he could shut it out and it'll all go away and none of this will be real. Like if he doesn't hear the words he'll never have to accept it and he can go back to a yesterday when he was happy and oblivious.

And we were laughing

And when I stood beside you

I could not be defeated

And all at once, I was invincible

And all at once, I felt the rush of wind beneath my wings

The breathing of a patient and kind world who knew no sorrows

And there was nothing I would change

And here was nothing I could wish for

And I remembered how to sing!

And I felt like I was dancing

And he doesn't want to curl up on the floor in Alfred's arms (I'll call you back Mattie) while his dearest friend has just ended his life, he doesn't want to cry and scream and howl in all of the grief in anguish he could muster. He doesn't want to shake and moan words unspoken like if he said them again and again maybe Francis would hear them and go on living.

(Francis is dead. Francis is dead.)

He doesn't want to screech and beg as if his pleas could go through time and Francis would be living and maybe they could have been happy once upon a time if he hadn't ran away. (Dead. Dead.) He can't breathe he can't think he can't, he can't.

(Francis. Francis.)

And I felt like nothing could ever hurt me again

And nothing could break me

And all of my suffering

Would never take me

And I hope to never wake from this dreaming

If it allows me to hold on to the illusion that a past days' simple joy

Could be everlasting

(Arthur look at me! It's going to be okay.) How could he do this? Why did no one stop him? Why wasn't Arthur there for him? Why didn't Arthur stay that one morning on the streets of Paris, and gone to breakfast. Maybe they would have started a life and maybe they could have been together and everything would have been alright. (What have I done?) Alfred is speaking but Arthur can't hear.

Francis had never forgotten, and in his note he begged Arthur to remember their days together. But Arthur was selfish. He forgot their legacy; he forgot their happiness, never guessing what it meant to Francis. How simplistic and yet precious, were the plans they made, and Arthur chose to let it all go. Arthur killed him. His hands are shaking and- no, he mustn't cry just yet.

When it was just the two of us

And we didn't need anyone else

The days I remember make me now want to laugh and cry

Because I've forgotten how to dream

I've forgotten what was once my cherished gift

And I've forgotten what the sound of our laughter was like

Alfred is saying that it isn't his fault but of course it is, Alfred doesn't know. Alfred doesn't understand how he caused all this; he never wanted anything like this to ever happen, not even in his darkest nightmares. Arthur opens his eyes and breaks the memory, rips it from his mind because it hurts to remember.

He lays his head against the gravestone (when had he fallen to his knees?) Felt the cool gray touch beneath his matted hair, sleepless eyes fogged with exhaustion. But how could he sleep with Francis's poetic dark words a haunting background to all of his thoughts? (Please forgive me.)

The weeping memories; they are drowned in my misery

A small child's strangled cry as he is stolen from innocence

Never to return

Thrust upon a new age

Where his once friends look to cut him down

Where the only person he can trust

Is himself

And sometimes he isn't even spared that luxury

(I'm sorry) He's choking, the air is choking him. His grief snakes cloying tendrils around his neck in a vice-like grip, and he lies (I haven't forgotten) and then he tells a truth (I won't forget. I'll never forget) and he wants to stay there forever, far past guilty and undeserving of forgiveness. The shame is a heavy shawl across his shoulders, his head feels like a pound of lead and oh, how could Francis do this? Couldn't he see? Arthur could have made him see, he had the chance, and he never took it.

Before politics

We were carefree

And I believed that there was ever a time that existed

The times before fire and hate and death

Before spite was a word I knew too well

Before I knew only the taste of defeat

Before I failed and my conscious wavered

Before life killed my dreaming

I was so very much alive

And the great world was spinning

And we were together

And he couldn't just get up and face Alfred back in the car, He couldn't go home and pretend that they would get past this and they would move on and there would be a dawn and a future and when he woke in the morning Francis would still be dead. He couldn't just look into his lover's subdued face and know, painfully so, that it was all Francis wanted was to be sitting there in his place, he had wanted it enough that the thought of living without it was worse than anything.

He had wanted it and Arthur was a thief; Arthur took his love away from him, brought it to America and made it his own. Arthur carefully folded the note into its original creasing, carefully stood, carefully reined in his composure (mustn't break again)

And if you're not there

The world will keep on breathing

And if I'm not here

Maybe you would never find out

And live your life anyway

And if you're happy with him

Then that's enough for me

There were so many people at the funeral. Had they all known him? Had they all done nothing? Had they all failed together, were they all blind and was Francis dead because of them all? How many people have suspected? How many people have tried? How many were ignored? No, it was Arthur's fault alone. It is his burden to carry.

Arthur feels like a fraud. He doesn't deserve to stand among Francis's friends and colleagues like he was one of them, it wasn't his sole fault that they had gathered to mourn the man that Arthur had killed.

And I'd love me a tragedy

If that's what it takes

To make you see me again

To make your words transform from malice to a tender hum

Maybe then

The world wouldn't seem so cold

And the stars wouldn't seem so distant

Gilbert and Antonio say some words. They tell animated stories and people laugh and people cry, but Arthur is empty and he wants to go home. Matthew had asked him if he would like to say a few things in his memory (Francis is now a memory. These people come here to prove that he even existed at all).

But Arthur is a coward and Arthur is a fool and how could he stand in front of all these people crying for the man he killed? He has nothing to say but he's sorry, but he knows that doesn't revive a man and that won't his suffering and Francis is still dead whether he's sorry or not.

And I could be dancing through the night sky in a cloak of starlight

If you would look up and see me

And I could sing the most beautiful of melodies

If that meant that you would hear me

And I'd love me a tragedy

If that's what it took

And you'd see my devotion

If you looked hard enough

Arthur leaves a rose and heartache under the wide expanse. He looks to the black abyss and tries to see Francis dancing, tries to see him painting a picture of all their history together and more, what could have been. But the twilight winks and says nothing. And there is nothing for Arthur to see.

I could be screaming

Throat raw from begging and (Please listen to me!)

I could be bleeding (Please!)

Carving a message into the walls with brittle nails scraped off

Please don't leave

Remember our lore

Remember my voice

I am your oldest friend

The days are gray and frigid. The nights are lonely, he spends them looking for Francis in the sky. And he remembers every miniscule detail. Arthur mourns, Arthur laments, but he never moves on. He speaks to the sky and imagines Francis speaking back. Alfred is kind and patient like Arthur knew he would.

But he stares into the dark and sees only a pair of dead eyes gazing back every night, and he listens (too late now) but he cannot hear. And his guilt is a heavy arm around his nape, dragging him under. His anger a choking weight on his chest as he struggles to take a breath because Francis is dead and that's all he knows now.

And Arthur searches, but he still sees nothing. And Arthur prays, but he still hears nothing. And Arthur regrets, but it still means nothing. And Arthur remembers, but it is too late to mean anything.

And I'm crying and crying

But you pay me no heed

I'm your oldest friend

And that means nothing to you

Because you left

And you said nothing to me

No goodbye

Like I never meant anything to you at all

And all of our days together were days wasted

Like it never even mattered.

Arthur feels empty. He stares at old pictures hidden away in the attic for the first time in years and he feels a pain in his chest like no other. His tears are spent and he looks into his scowl from a time when he had nothing to be sad about because Francis was beside him.

He looks into the frozen eyes of a man he abused and gave him loveless life he didn't deserve, looks into those cobalt eyes full of life and longing. He gazes into a dead man's eyes and the ghosts on the pages don't let him rest. Arthur is breaking; Francis's picture smiles back at him.

Did I ever cross your mind?

Did you feel anything at all?

Were we nothing?

Was I nothing to you?

You forgot the man who wanted to spend his days growing old with you

You forgot the man you left behind in the dust

And you forgot me

And that alone is killing me.

You're killing me, Arthur dear.

This tough old man can't take much more.

A pill bottle is missing from its spot on the shelf. Doors are locked. He has a few short words written. He traces the colors spiraling in his field of vision, feels a light pain in his head, he can't feel his legs, and he can't feel his heart. The room is spinning and he's floating until he feels nothing at all…

Infinity.

Because you didn't care enough to remember

Did you ever care at all?

Was I imagining your friendship?

Was I imagining our childhood?

No. It was real.

But you still said nothing

Francis's poem is in his hand, a rose in the other, an empty pill bottle cast askew. And Alfred weeps for his lost future and weakly hopes they're happy together at last. And he looks to the night sky in remembrance and they stars are laughing at his misery.

And then he calls Matt.

Alfred feel cold in a house much too large for one man alone, feels the chill of the night and a dead man in the room beside him. Ghosts are hissing and spitting and Alfred has a headache. Matthew picks up and Alfred realizes that he has nothing to say.

(Dead.)

And unless you need me

Unless there's a tragedy

I will always mean nothing to you

Nothing

At

All

It seems that Francis' goodbye became a prophecy. It took a tragedy to bring them together again. Alfred wishes that this wasn't how it was. He wishes for a different life on a different day before a tragedy killed a man and took another down with him. He runs out of stories and the brothers sit in silence, reminiscing only took up so much time, talking has always taken his mind away from things.

Down on the grass with Matthew at his side and lays down flowers on both of their graves, and the cruel world keeps on spinning. He wishes he could find something to say, but there's a lump in his throat and he hangs his head, shoulders trembling. Matthew places a hesitant hand on his and its enough. With Mathew beside him, the memories are not lost.

- Love Always,

Francis

"Happy birthday" Alfred rasps, leaning down to kiss the headstone and pretending to recall a time before it all fell apart before him. Matthew sighs and the dusk is blue and silent at last.

Alfred crying for his lover, Matthew is crying for a brother, and the stars dance above their heads.