ALONE | fruk

the sweet embrace of death

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All the lonely people, where do they all come from?

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The clock strikes.

Francis staggered through the streets of Paris, a book on his left hand and a bottle of cheap whiskey on his right.

In a short period of time, this life became the routine for the young man.

With zero condition to pay his rent, Francis lived in the streets. Doing whatever he could to buy his alcohol.

People who walked in the lonely night looked at Francis with a certain air of pity, others with disdain.

His long and beautiful blonde hair were now turned into nothing but a nest of rats. His purple-blue eyes who carried hope and dreams, now were empty. Filled with nothing but sadness and despair.

In so little time, his ego was replaced with utter disgust. He could still feel the hands of the men he sold himself to roaming his body, no matter how much he tried to clean his skin.

Filthy. That's how he felt.

But yet, Francis couldn't end his life. Fear consumed him everytime he brought the knife to his neck. Fear consumed him everytime he tried to jump off the bridge.

Coward. That's how he described himself.

For the first time in months, Francis laughed. Laughed at how pathetic he felt. Laughed at his own misery.

Drops of rain hit the ground, the night just got colder. Many strangers ran to find a spot to cover themselves.

Francis just puts his book inside his coat and continued his journey to the place he now called home: an alley next to the restaurant he previously worked at. Before his life turned into hell.

As he got to the location, the frenchman leaves his bottle on the ground and sits down near the trashcan. The cold making him shiver more than ever.

But he had to stay strong. He had to survive another night.

He tried to fall asleep, but insomnia made him its slave.

To ease his mind, Francis opened the book. The one he managed to steal in the morning from a crowded shop. Apparently it was a popular book, a mystery themed one. Not his favorite genre, but he had no other option.

From what he had read so far in the book shop, the main character is a man named Arthur Kirkland. A young detective in Victorian England who desperately tries to find the murderer of his lover.

The clock strikes.

Francis was captivated. The way the characters were developed, the eloquent writing, the intrigues. It all fascinated him.
The way the main character tries to cope from the death of his significant other... The book gave Francis endless joy. Francis was fascinated by the main character.

All of a sudden, Francis felt cold. More cold than before. Everything around him seems to freeze. Time seemed to stop.

The confused Frenchman tried to get up, but he felt weak. He couldn't move properly.

But then he saw a silhouette. A silhouette in the rainy night. And it seemed to come towards him. As it got closer, Francis realized. It was... a male?

The man stopped right in front of Francis. He had short blonde hair, vibrant green eyes, bushy eyebrows and an air of indifference. He wore strange clothing. Francis thought they were Victorian era themed garments.

"Arthur?" Francis come to a conclusion. It was the character he was so fascinated with.

The man, or Arthur, didn't reply. He just got closer, and closer. Until their cold lips collided.

Francis's trembling hands went to the Englishman's face. It was paradise. In months, Francis was finally able to smile.

But... Francis felt as if his soul was leaving his body.

"Is this how I finally die? Kissing a trick by my own imagination?" He thought. "Then so be it."

The kiss stopped.

Francis's hand dropped. His lips now were pure white.

The last thing he did was smile to Arthur. Surprisingly, Arthur smiled too.

"See you on the other side, love."

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Francis Bonnefoy died in that cold, lonely night. With a smile on his face and the book close to his chest. No one comes near. Nobody cared.

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All the lonely people, where do they all belong?
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(A/N: 04:06 a.m i have no time for proper english)