#and in that

[icarusian]

"do you know what it's like to be in love?" francis asks, fountain pen scraping across parchment with precision. arthur can see this for what it is at the offset: bait. and arthur, dubious, takes it with caution.

"why, have you forgotten?" have you forgotten what it feels like? have you forgotten how i feel?

"hard to forget something that feels like being burnt alive," he laughs, amused. francis would know that feeling. "no, i just can't imagine everyone feels like i do."

"and what's so unique about your love that no one in the world understands?" as if arthur doesn't know. as if arthur isn't the same. no one has a love like theirs. still, he relishes hearing it aloud all the same.

"being in love is like going through grief," francis says with no hesitation. "every stage of it! you can deny your feelings all you want but you know in your bones what is happening to you. death has come. and not just your death, but also theirs if you're lucky." he's still writing, pen poised on parchment and pulling curves along it with every stroke, and arthur chooses to watch his hands work rather than his mouth.

"and you're not afraid of how much you feel. no, you welcome it, because you can finally be you again. the perfect man, because they have made you whole again." francis wields the fountain pen like a scythe. he is nearly etching words into the parchment.

arthur is afraid to find francis' eye, afraid he'll see just how hot love burns there, but that does not stop him from challenging francis.

"do i look dead to you?" he scoffs. "do i look like i've been consumed by something so terrible i'm no longer the man you know?"

francis finishes his work and promptly taps the pen back into its inkwell. he turns, a wild glint in his eyes, and steps towards arthur with intention. he grabs arthur's hand and brings it up to his lips for a lingering kiss.

"we died the day we met, arthur. and you've never looked better." arthur sucks in a breath, a quick, instinctive reaction that tells francis he's right. "here."

francis has pushed his newly-dried paper into arthur's taken hand.

"what's this?"

"your eulogy."

[evenasyoungastheyare]

.

[rcguna-archived]

When you get that one on anon you know someone is hoping to get some praise-u.

But will they?

[kawaiibellamy]

Do you ever take a really nice selfie in your lingerie and your body looks great and want to post it on the Internet bc you feel good about yourself but you can't

[justintimefororange]

It's just that sometimes people use thought to not participate in life.

The Perks of Being a Wallflower