Too true to be

I can't, I couldn't (Francis)

He trudged to the school building, dread eating him alive. He kept replaying the call he had with Arthur on Thursday. A new week was just want he needed. His two friends followed on to his locker. The Frenchman was much more gloomy and moody than usual. From what they could see at least.

"Franny?" said Gilbert as he tilted a bit to get a look at his friend.

He looked over at him. Bags under his dull blue eyes, a frown adorned his face and his creases in his forehead made him look older. Francis looked more of a wreck than usual in the morning. He took a step back, color draining from his already pale face. Antonio, who is childhood friends with Francis, frowned and tilted his head. 

"Francis? Why the wrong face?" he asked, "I know you're usually grumpy in the mornings but this is waaay off."

The Frenchman sighed and gathered his books for first class. He needed to get it off of his chest. Closing his locker, he faced his two friends. They are after all, his best friends. They'd help him cope with this feeling.

"I'm sorry. Things have just been a bit troublesome." he told them.

"Care to tell?" asked Gilbert, crossing his arms.

"Arthur has a date to Prom." he replied.

The two of them gasp, they looked at each other with shocked expressions before looking at Francis. Arthur has a date to Prom! That was terrible- well in Francis's terms. The two of them knew how much he loved the other.

"That's tragic news!"

"Totally not awesome."

He nodded in agreement, "I know my friends, but it was to be. After all, there is no way for me to go over there. A plane ticket is expensive, and so is a boat ticket."

-

When Francis returned home, he stared at his computer. Talking to Arthur today will down him more, but the Brit will wonder what happened. Time to use the homework excuse. It never fails. Logging on, he sent Arthur a message. Stating he got bunched up on homework today and needed to do it to bring his grades up. He then quickly logged off, afraid of his reply. Even though he isn't home until another hour or so. He'll talk to the Brit tomorrow. Maybe he'll be in a better mood to talk. But now he was laying in bed, wondering what to do with his love life. It's a high possibility that Arthur's and Roderich's relationship will step up. Maybe this is a sign that they should break all communication with each other.

"I can't" he said to himself, "I couldn't.."

But is it an ' I won't '?

"Francis dear? It's time for dinner." knocked his mother.

He rose up from his sleep; he must have fallen asleep when he was doing his homework. The last thing he remembered of his dream was the soft laugh of his sweet, sweet Arthur. How his eyes shone brightly as he stared deep into his irises. It was a beautiful memory in the making...But it was all just a dream.

"Yes mama." he replied groggily.

Getting up, he stretched before heading downstairs to eat dinner with his parents. There, they were waiting for him. Smiles on their faces when they saw him. He loved his parents; they were always so supportive of him and understood the best they could for him. He wouldn't ask for any other.

"There you are." said his father.

He nodded, "Sorry, I fell asleep when I was doing my homework."

"Oh dear, you're working yourself hard. Take it easy alright, you know you can ask us for help." said his mother.

He nodded again; he knew he could ask them for help. But for his current situation, could they? Would they? Did they know? How would they react?

"Then.." He pursed his lips, "What do I do when someone I care deeply for..Has maybe... Found someone else."

His parents glanced at each other, this was about Arthur wasn't it? Their poor son. It was easy to tell, Francis was an easy egg to read if you knew him well enough. Mrs. Bonnefoy smiled at her son before talking.

"That's quite a problem you have there." she said.

"I know."

She looked over to her husband, "Have any intake mon cher?"

He glanced to the side before speaking, "Well, I agree with your mother. It's a hard situation to solve. It's not an one word answer."

Francis pursed his lips, "I don't know what to do. Like, he— They! They might be too busy to talk. I don't want to bother them because I know that there's a possibility that they will take it up to the next level."

"Francis, let's think rationally here," said she.

She walked over to her son, "I doubt he'll forget about you. After all you two are as close as your uncle and his ' best friend ' is."

Francis sighed, he hoped his mother is right. He hopes Arthur didn't forget him if things between Arthur and Roderich step up. From there they ate dinner, chattering about their day. But the guilt of not video chatting with Arthur today is going to haunt him for awhile.

Once things downstairs were cleaned up, the blue eyed teen went back up to his room. Laying on his bed again, he ignored all the unfinished homework he had laying on his desk. He stared at the ceiling throughout the night. How did Arthur react to him not being able to call him? Does he hate him now? So many questions blurred through his mind like a bullet train. Why couldn't he handle these floods of emotion? Rolling over to lay on his stomach, his eye caught sight of the quill Arthur sent him. He got up and walked over to it. It laid there on his desk in the dark. Picking it up, he observed it quietly. He remembered that day clearly. They were still fairly new friends and they were getting to know each other. Arthur was telling him on how they used to write with ink and a quill. Curious on how a writing quill worked, Arthur offered to send him one of his. That was probably the day things began to take a turn. Laughs shared and sweet words exchanged. He never regretted clicking on that link he was sent.

"Heh, I haven't even used this once.." he trailed as he recalled the memory.

Francis sat down and grabbed some scratch paper. Grabbing his not yet opened ink bottle, he got ready to write. Trying to remember the proper way to use a quill, he dipped the tip of the quill into the opened bottle of ink and wrote out his name. Smiling at the penmanship, he wrote again, but this time it was the one he was yearning for. Arthur Kirkland. His hand grabbed for another piece of paper, this time a clean, new sheet. On there, his hand flowed out his feelings. Broken and love-struck.

- Arthur Kirkland. The man I love and will cherish even if we no longer will speak. Arthur Kirkland. The one and the only. Arthur Kirkland. The one man who has broken my heart, but yet still has it in his hands. The one who will haunt me until my last breath and ever on, he has claimed my heart as his and forever more. Arthur Kirkland. My love. My story. My Life. -