England was as bleak and grey as it had been when he left it, the weather seemed to mourn his return as it hadn't stopped raining all week since his arrival. His eyes were shut as he sat on the old floral sofa his mother used to adore.

The wake had been just as bleak; it didn't seem right to him, his mother would've wanted everyone to celebrate the life she lived but all — even Arthur — could only seem to grieve. He missed Tuscany, he didn't want to sit in reality anymore.

His fingers were scratching the back of the family cat's fluffy ear as it curled up on his lap, the low purring soothed him as he blocked out the mutterings and sobs of the attendants of the wake. He felt like an outsider, he wasn't supposed to be here even if it was for his mother.

The pearlescent smile of Beniamina and her sweet laugh clung to the back of his eyelids and echoed in his eardrums, an even deeper ache forming in his chest— all he knew was grief. The sound of his name being called caused his eyes to open reluctantly.

He found that his eyes seemed to cling to you as soon as you entered his vision, standing above where he was slouched on the sofa with your eyes looking down at him with pity. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" It felt clunky speaking in his mother tongue these days.