Arthur Kirkland was far too used to being ignored. He was far too used to being neglected. He was far too used to being hurt. Most of all, he was far too used to hiding his feelings. With practise and time, he was able to piece together a mask, a façade so cleverly deceiving no one paid mind to the tattooed scars on his arms and his tear stained face. But of course that was what he intended to do. He was used to being surrounded by casual lies about life. So as he carried on with his life, he never once reached out to anyone. He never once became a burden to his brothers, to his classmates, to his teachers, even to his old friends from ignorant blissful days. He kept himself in a dark place in his body, right next to his heart that was always locked. He always smiled. His smile was always forced, always painful to pull, always heart wrenching. But no one cared too much.

But then, he met him.

Arthur had met Francis Bonnefoy by mistake in the summer. Yes, he was most certain that they were never meant to meet. But when Francis approached Arthur as he hugged his knees tightly as tears streamed his face, it made Arthur wonder how God worked his powers. Arthur had tucked himself away from prying eyes, in a spot that only he knew. And yet Francis wandered towards him, as if, by chance, he was looking for him. And when Francis calmly asked him what was wrong, Arthur smiled his usual smile, and had given him the same foolproof answer he had to others:

"I'm fine."

But Francis saw through his mask almost immediately.

"If you were really fine, then you wouldn't be crying." said Francis in a matter of fact tone. His response had put Arthur in a slight state of shock. And as Francis sat next to him in silence before introducing himself, Arthur's mind was spinning. Someone, for once, actually cared. Someone wanted to sit next him. Someone wanted to know why he was crying. There was actually someone next to him. And when he felt lingering eyes on his arms, he looked up at the strange boy with the sea in his eyes and the gold threaded in his hair and saw a familiar smile. It wasn't long until he realised that the smile Francis wore was a smile he had seen in the mirror.

That the smile was no more than his own.

Arthur and Francis were quick friends in the autumn. They would go to the secluded spot together. They would simply talk about their implausible dreams and their doomed realities. Arthur liked listening to Francis's story. He lived with his father on a high-class estate. His mother died in a house fire in Paris when he was just five years old.

"She burned as bright as Jeanne d'Arc." said Francis. Arthur had slowly grown to like the voice of Francis Bonnefoy. His voice was sweet, melodically beautiful. But it was sympathetic towards Arthur alone. Towards Arthur, his voice was kind, understanding, caring. The tone in his voice was gentle. It had always put Arthur's heart and mind at ease. But something had been bothering Arthur. Arthur never understood why Francis had cared so much about Arthur. So one day, when they watched the first leaf fall together, Arthur asked an important question:

"Why be friends with me; why not someone else?"

Arthur expected him to be defensive. He expected Francis to not have a valid answer. He wanted Francis to realise that being friends with him was fruitless, that Arthur was simply just as hopeless case after all. But Francis wasn't thrown off by his question. Instead he simply hugged him tightly, his grip secure around his back.

"Because I saw someone who deserved someone who cared about them." replied Francis in a loving tone. Arthur was in shock, even when Francis pulled away to look at him with slightly glowing eyes.

"We can share the pain together if you want." Francis said afterwards.

Arthur cried for the rest of that day. He was far too shocked to be happy.

They shared their first heated kiss in the winter. Arthur thought that the kiss was accidental, a prank at the very most. He was very much in love at this point. He wanted to feel Francis's touch, his embrace, his love, his passion. He wanted Francis to finally make him feel alive. So when Francis had kissed Arthur in their hidden sanctuary, Arthur felt the need to eagerly respond. Arthur felt fingers run through his hair, down his spine, rubbing his waist fondly. And so Arthur had laced his fingers through Francis's own hair, run his own hands down Francis's chest, over his arms-

But then time stopped.

As Arthur pulled away, he felt familiar tattooed scars on Francis's arms. He looked down and saw them with his own eyes. Some were old and faded long ago. Some were just healed and scabbed over. The rest were red and raw and shockingly fresh. Arthur felt his blood run cold. He felt his skin turn white. For a moment, his world began to crumble. It broke Arthur's heart in the cruellest way. But his emotions were wrong. He didn't feel pity. He felt no remorse. He felt no sorrow.

He felt rage. He felt betrayed. He felt, of all the things to feel at the time, hatred.

"Why… why didn't you tell me?" Arthur asked after a long silence. This time, Francis didn't reply. And that made Arthur angry.

"I hate you… I hate you so fucking much!" Arthur yelled out, pushing Francis away from him sharply and forcefully. He said words that cut through like a knife. He wanted Francis to be hurt, to be angered. He wanted Francis to tell him why he hid his pain. But Francis never said a thing. He simply smiled at Arthur. His smile was bright. His eyes were hollow. They were, to be frank, a dead as Arthur used to be. But when Arthur saw him he saw himself. They were both too used to hiding their emotions. They were both too used to smiling through their pain. They were both too used to hiding their tears behind their masks. They were both talented Crybaby Pierrots. That was when Arthur was handed a key to his heart as a tear rolled down Francis's cheek silently. He was given a way to break the chains around his heart; a way to make the tears finally stop.

He was given a way to make his heart stronger; for both him and Francis.

They were smiling in the spring many years after. They were happy then. They were together by then. Their tattooed cuts had faded away with each other. They were at peace in their hearts and in their mind. Arthur could never stop wondering to himself how Francis could love him so much. There were times, in Arthur's darkest moments, he would lash out at Francis; he would say things he never meant to say; spewing lies that were made to sting wounds. And yet Francis had stayed with him, had made sure that Arthur never cried alone, had made sure to carry him as far as he could.

Arthur carried Francis also. Although he was so used to carrying himself, when he carried Francis during sinister times, he felt oddly satisfied. He was finally able to help people. He was finally worth something. He was actually needed. So he made sure to make Francis smile. He made sure that Francis felt alive. There were times where they almost lost each other to the darkness. But they always found a way to give a reason to live life. It would always end with their love. But it always kept the other safe.

There were times when Arthur had thanked Francis, sometimes at the most oddest of times. Francis would always ask him why he was to be thanked for being around. He would always ask Arthur why he thanked him for loving him, for caring for him, for carrying him. But Arthur would simply smile at him, hold his hand tightly and look at him with summer grass eyes and a true smile, and gave him the same old yet new answer he had given him:

"Because the love you have for me kept me alive."

Their Crybaby Pierrots were finally banished from their soulds. And following that they lived their lives in a romantic bliss.

The song, Crybaby Pierrot, by IA: watch?v=ukkGAtC_beM