Five Days - FrUK

The corner of Francis' lips curled into a sheepish smile as the Frenchman picked up the photo frame which contained the most recent photograph of himself with Arthur. Snow fell around the two in the photo, blanketing the ground and trees and anything else that happened to be static, including the tops of their hats. It was such a cold day, Francis remembered as he placed the picture back onto the table. The blond sighed and curled his legs a little bit closer to his own body for some more warmth. He shifted to adjust his blanket a little, sighed, and then turned on the television.

It had been five days since Arthur disappeared. The first day, the Frenchman paced around the house and could not fall asleep, no matter what he did. He tried everything, too: Lullabies, warm milk, calming music. None of it worked. Everything Francis did would somehow relate to Arthur. Was the Brit okay? Where was he? Why did he not call? Francis lay in his bed and shifted, trying to fall asleep.

The second day was not any better. Francis ended up going outside for the whole day, going into the forest around his house and walking all over the town in a failed attempt to find his lover. The search team told Francis that it was going to be okay and that Francis should go home because they would find him, but the Frenchman was not convinced and searched for Arthur anyway. Francis fell asleep in the forest and was awakened the next day with the charming and serene sight of a search dog barking loudly in his face.

The third day, Francis began to give up subconsciously. He continued to tell himself that the search team or someone else was going to find Arthur, but he did not leave his house to look for the Englishman. Francis merely went about his day as usual; he felt kind of lonely, and did everything he did daily, though he did it alone. He did not even call the police every hour to see if the search had found any more clues.

On the fourth day, Alfred and Mathieu came during the evening in an attempt to calm Francis and comfort him. The twins took Francis to the movies, but no one had much fun. Francis laughed at all the wrong parts and squirmed too much, asking Alfred to pass the popcorn and then refusing to eat it, insisting that it "wasn't burnt enough," which Mathieu and Alfred found strange. The oldest man also cried too much during the movie, even though the movie was not a sad one. After the movie ended, Francis invited Mathieu and Alfred to stay the night, which caused the two younger men to secretively mumble amongst themselves. Alfred told Mathieu that it was a bad idea because Francis acted mentally unstable, whereas Mathieu used Francis' disquiet for an excuse as to why the two should stay the night; if Francis freaked out in the middle of the night, Mathieu or Alfred could try to calm the man. After a little bit of brotherly bickering, Alfred finally gave in and Mathieu won. Francis demanded that one of the twins sleep with him, and in the end Mathieu lost another argument with Alfred and was forced to cuddle with Francis.

On the fifth day, Mathieu woke up before Francis and deserted the bed to go to the kitchen to make breakfast. As the Canadian cooked, Alfred stumbled into the kitchen, clad in only his boxers and demanding that Mathieu give him the food, and Mathieu had to tell Alfred that no, the food was for Francis, and Alfred leaned against the fridge, his arms crossed, before he finally remembered that they were in Francis' house. A few minutes later, Francis woke up to the delicious smell of pancakes, maple syrup, and bacon. Mathieu smiled at the edge of the Frenchman's bed, holding a tray which contained the plate of Francis' breakfast. The older man then realised that it had been a few days since he really ate a meal, so he thanked his friend and then scarfed the food down. After finishing, Mathieu took the tray away and Francis showered, feeling slightly better about himself, though he still felt extremely worried for Arthur's wellbeing.

Francis waddled out of the bathroom an hour later. He looked well-groomed and dressed as usual, and he walked around the house to open all the windows. It was a sunny day, and Francis even had a strong feeling that someone found Arthur and that someone was going to return the Englishman to Francis. The fresh air circulated around the house and Francis situated himself in front of the television. He picked up the photograph of himself and Arthur in the snow and then smiled at the memory. Francis turned on the television to watch the news.

What he heard broke his heart.

"Arthur Kirkland was found dead early this morning. It seems like it was a violent death, though, because his body was pretty messy and bloody when the search crew found him. No one knows who killed him yet, but—"

Francis immediately turned the television off. He just imagined the scenario, right? Of course he did…! Francis had a good feeling that Arthur was still out there, and a silly news reporter was not about to tell him otherwise. Perhaps the man was talking about another Arthur Kirkland, or they identified the body incorrectly. Yes, that had to be it.

There was a sudden knocking at the door.

"I will get it…" Francis mumbled, standing up and then shuffling to the door; it was hard to walk, his legs felt like they were made of jelly and his stomach was about to drop out of his butt at any moment. The blond opened the door slowly and was greeted by two officer. "…Oui?" Francis' voice was dry, lifeless.

"Mister Bonnefoy, is it?" the fat and stout policeman asked. After a while, Francis nodded slowly. "I'm Officer Mason, the one who organised the search team and stuff." The officer placed his hand on Francis' shoulder. "Listen, we're all really sorry, but… Ah…" Officer Mason seemed to be struggling with his words.

"We're really sorry," the female police officer blurted. "We found Arthur Kirkland this morning, but… he's been wrangled up really bad. He appears to have been shot and stabbed multiple times, and it also looks like he struggled a lot, and his bones a—"

"That's enough." Officer Mason glared at the female police officer before looking at Francis again. "We really do regret telling you, though… he didn't deserve it. Don't worry, we're gonna find whoever did this and lock them up for life."

Francis could not hear the others. They lost him at "sorry". "I… I understand. Thank you very much for all you have done…" The Frenchman looked away and then shooed the officers a little bit before he closed the door, walked over to the couch, and then clutched his blanket, wrapping it around himself. He hugged his legs to himself and buried his face in his knees, crying.

"Oi Frenchy," Alfred laughed as he burst into the room, "Whatcha d— …Francis?" It took the American a couple of moments to realise that Francis was crying, and that just a minute ago there was a knock at the door, and… Oh. Not being one to comfort people, Alfred left the room and forced Mathieu to go calm the Frenchman.

After a few hours, Mathieu stopped comforting Francis for a little bit to clean the house and help Francis with the housework. Alfred went home. Francis glanced at the photo on the table again. He picked it up, his lips not curling into a smile.

It was the most recent photograph of Francis and Arthur, but Francis now knew that it was the last photo of himself with Arthur.