Sacrifice

Francis loved him. He loved that damned Brit. He really didn't understand why, though. He didn't really have anything special. It's not like his traditions are all that special, nor his style. Not even his personality, not even his looks that triggered his heart. It's just...Arthur Kirkland. Arthur Kirkland is the one he loves. The one that set his heart into a million fireworks, and nothing else.

It killed him inside, knowing that the Brit-Arthur Kirkland-hates him. Of course, he did. All the fights they had, all the hatred they shared, all never seemed to go away. It stayed there, haunting the Frenchmen deeply. It really did make him want to die. Maybe this was how Arthur felt whenever he talks about these 'ghosts and spirits' in his place. It even wanted to make him die...

Maybe it's time to...finally confess to him. Yes, he needs to end this 'war', to stop this battle. Please, just let it stop. -No, he can't. If he confesses now, what would that Brit say? He would only hate him more, of course! That damned, stupid Brit, why did he need to make his love life so complicated!?

"Francis, wake up! Stop daydreaming in these meetings, we need everyone's opinion!" Ludwig exclaimed, snapping Francis wide-eyed and staring at the room blankly. Of course, the man sitting next to him, Mr. Kirkland chuckled at this. Even Antonio and Bella were sneaking a conversation about how empty he seemed lately.

"Je suis désolé," he apologized, and let a small smile appear on his face. After this, he didn't even look Arthur's direction. After being woken up in a terrifying manner by the German, it turned out to be more embarrassing to be singled out. "It won't happen again, Monsieur Beillshmidt."

That would obviously be a lie. Leaning back on his chair, he listened to the other conversations going on. Everytime Arthur had suggested an idea, he bit his lip to talk back to him. If Mr. Kirkland always complained to him about always disagreeing with him, just because he hates him, then he will stop.

...Wait, what were the others talking about again? Global warming or global economics? He could care less... He knew that Ludwig was going to end up helping him with his money anyway. In fact, he was about to help control everyone's money in Europe. Except Mr. 'So-Called-Perfect-Kirkland'. Just nothing about him is perfect.

"...and I will take care of Arthur's debts!" Alfred exclaimed, his face brightening with a oblivious glint in his eye. That bit of conversation triggered the Frenchman's ears.

As Francis was just about to reject, Arthur spoke out on his behalf, "How can you even pay for your own debts, git? You are already in a recession, and you are only going to go bloody bankrupt soon."

"...Were you going to say something, Herr Bonnefoy? You look like you had to say something," said the German, a serious face looking even more annoyed. Francis simply shook his head, whispering the word, "Non," in shame. Again, this was quite embarrassing. The Brit simply rolled his eyes, both at the American and the Frenchman.

Francis' arm was nudged by the person by his left, the caring Spaniard, with question in his mind. "What's wrong, Señor Bonnefoy? You seem off," he whispered.

Had it been this obvious? Had his behavior really been noticeable? "Non, je vais bien, merci. Just a little...tired, I guess," he lied. This made Antonio nod his head and turn away, still holding his doubts.

Finally, this useless meeting was over. "Good job, everyone. For the first time, we've actually accomplished something," Ludwig stated, walking out. Feliciano was already right behind the German, and he didn't seem to mind. Or, maybe he didn't seem to care about his lover.

After that, Alfred was walking out, looking as if he was pestering Arthur...again. Arthur seemed to put up with him quite easily...but, whenever he and Arthur argued, the Brit would just try to punch him, or make matters worse. Or...maybe it was his own fault? He packed his things in his briefcase, sighing deeply in thought. As the two walked out, the pair didn't even turn his direction. He was just...going to lay down at home.

I would do anything for you to make you happy, to make you love me... Even if it means I have to go. I'll say 'goodbye' if I have to.

Francis felt miserable. He hasn't slept for days, his eyes hurt, his back hurt. His head ached, and his heart yelled for this pain to go away. How long has it been since he started to ignore Arthur? Ignore the outside? When was the last time he actually got out of his home? Was there a meeting he had to attend to?

He checked the messages on his phone, sighing lifelessly as the screen came up. 9 NEW MESSAGES. 12 MISSED PHONE CALLS. The messages and phone calls were from mostly Alfred, Antonio, and Matthew. Oh...Matthew, he'd forgot that the Canadian actually cared about him. However, none from Arthur Kirkland. Did the Brit really hate him that much to actually care?

Francis put his phone aside, grabbing the pack of cigarettes from the bedside table. What was the point of eating? It's not like his appearance mattered, if he wasn't going out anywhere.-Wait...Style mattered. Style always mattered, it was the thing that drove him! ...No, it doesn't matter anymore. He lit the cigarette with the lighter beside the box, breathing in slowly and raggedly. It has been years since he last smoked... When did he start again? First, how? Why?

...The Frenchman got up to use the restroom, and he took note on his head imploding with dizziness. He stood a few moments to get used to the painful feeling, and walked to the bathroom.

In the mirror, he stared-a monster, a...cave-dweller. He was staring into the reflection of a skinny man, with a dirty, unshaved beard, eyes bloody red. His stomach caved in, his arms looked like a twigs, hair so uncombed and...unfashionable. When did this happen?

His ears felt like exploding, now that he started listening to his own voice. "A-ah..." It's not right! His voice was similar to a frog's! Is this what it meant when Arthur called him a frog? No! Don't think about him! He hates you and you, Francis Bonnefoy, has to leave him alone!

Arthur Kirkland hates Francis Bonnefoy...but, Francis Bonnefoy loves Arthur Kirkland. I love Arthur, Arthur hates me. He will always hate me! I will love him forever! I will do whatever it takes for Arthur to love me! Arthur will love Francis...! No, he won't.

The voices kept trailing him to clueless insanity. His head ached, sore and dead. His eyes made him look even more insane in the mirror. He was scared, terrified. Francis stroked the mirror in horror, and slowly pulled back to a distance. He curled his fingers in shaky fury and punched the mirror with whatever strength he had left.

And there on, his vision blurred, and went black.

He will never love you...