The lack of Arthur-centric fan fiction made me sad, so I decided to help the shortage.

Rated T for sensitive subject matter.

Lovesick

The prince bit his lip bloody and raw in the darkness of his room that night, occasionally wincing as the sting of salt dribbled down into the wound from his eyes. He thought to take his glasses off but could not bring himself to rip his hands from his lap to do so. He wanted them. He needed them right now. The fragile bits of glass were the only things that gave him any clarity at all.

Arthur prayed to the gods that no one else in the house could hear him. Aside from the unavoidable hiccup now and then he'd wept silently, but it felt like the loudest sound in the world to him. Even with the sounds of music and overjoyed party's guests creeping through the floorboards it was almost deafening.

Only one of the voices caught Arthur's attention. "Thank you all very much for coming here tonight! Margaret and I are blessed to have friends like you."

The prince's teeth bit deeper, and he nearly choked on the taste of copper.

He knew that he should have been overjoyed when Lest had come into his office that day and announced his engagement to Margaret, but as Arthur plastered a smile on his face, he felt his heart sink to the very pit of his stomach. He'd wanted to vomit in an attempt to get it back.

What did that mean, anyway? No matter how hard Arthur tried to place the feeling, he could not wrap his head around it. After feeling sick for days, he assumed it must have been some sort of medical issue and gone to see Jones and Nancy the next day. For his friend's sake, he'd left out names.

Nancy laughed and smiled sweetly at the prince as he described his ailment. She called it love.

Arthur was barely able to run outside before he vomited in the street.

Such a thing was impossible. He did not love Margaret.

Nancy walked Arthur home after the incident and insisted that he rest-going so far as to inform Dylas and Porcoline of what had occurred. They agreed completely and hovered over Arthur like he was a wounded child. He vehemently opposed the idea. He would be fine if he could just get back to work...

And then Margaret came in. She pried the men away from Arthur as they tried to explain. She frowned at the prince.

"You shouldn't work if you're sick! Go upstairs and get some rest."

The trio practically dragged the man back into his room and forced him into bed. As Porcoline and Dylas rushed downstairs to open the restaurant for the day, Margaret stayed behind for just a moment to make sure that Arthur would be alright.

He starred at her and his heart sank again. If she hadn't questioned him about it, Arthur would have been completely unaware that he had been glaring at her from behind his glasses. He apologized and dismissed her, and he knew that he did not love her. Her presence had made him angry. His mind was contradicting his heart again. He knew that he should have been grateful. She had been nothing but kind to him since he had arrived in town.

When Lest came to visit everyone later in the day, Arthur nearly threw up a second time as Nancy's words resonated in his head.

Arthur had fallen in love, and it had been with a man—a man who was now engaged, nonetheless.

He shook his head vehemently. Such a thing couldn't be possible, could it? He'd never heard of it before—not of men loving men the way that they loved women. Lest, apparently once curious about it, had decided to experiment on half of the town's men as a joke and falsely confess love. Everyone had seemed horrified until learning it was a joke, and they still didn't appear to find it very amusing. Vishnal had been the only one Lest had "confessed" to who hadn't shot down the idea—he'd merely seemed flustered.

After what felt like an eternity of stillness, Arthur wiped the blood and tears from his face and stood from his bed. His body felt like it weighed more than the entire town, but he felt in the pit of his stomach that if anyone could answer the questions he had at the moment, it might have been Vishnal.

Just as Arthur reached for his coat, Lest came tumbling into the room with the smell of wine. Arthur jumped at the sudden noise and dropped his coat.

"Arthur! You done being sick yet?" Lest cheered airily. "Come down and join the party."

Arthur shook his head, sucking on his lip wound in hopes it would go unnoticed. Unfortunately, Lest was reluctant to take "no" for an answer. He lurched forward and slapped a hand on the prince's shoulder with a drunken smile.

"Nancy says it's a special kind of sick. Lovesick, she called it."

The prince chewed on his wound a bit more before answering. "She said that?"

"Mmm hmm." Lest said in the same airy tone he entered the room with. "So, who is she?"

"I'm afraid you're mistaken."

Lest leaned in closer and drawled out his words. "Who is she?"

"Lest, I—"

The other man's eyes widened and darkened with such a quickness it seemed to completely sober him up. "What's that on your face?"

Arthur's hand shot up to his face as he averted his gaze. He realized he must have only smeared the blood across his face. "What's what?"

"You're bleeding. And your eyes are all red." Lest squinted and leaned in closer. "Your lip is bleeding. My god, are you okay?"

Before Arthur could reply, Lest carefully took the prince's hand in his own and gently pulled it away. He examined the wound with a sadness in his eyes that made Arthur's already frantic heart flutter. The prince wanted to throw himself out the window. This could not be happening—it was too beautifully awful.

"Looks like it hurts… you didn't do this, did you?" Lest mumbled. Arthur didn't answer, and Lest assumed the silence meant "yes." Lest didn't let go of Arthur's hand. "Why'd you do it?"

Arthur couldn't help himself from quickly leaning forward when his eyes met with Lest's again. Their lips pressed together and blood dribbled down both of their chins. Lest gagged on the taste and Arthur quickly pulled away.

Lest was breathless as he wiped the blood off of his face and examined it on his sleeve, his eyes quickly darting back and forth from that to Arthur. "What… the hell?"

Frantic, Arthur could no longer focus on holding back his tears. Nonetheless, he offered Lest the same smile he offered each of his customers everyday as they walked into his store—and yet, somehow, Lest noticed it lacked the same feeling. "A joke."

"What?"

"A joke." Arthur repeated. "Like the one you played on everyone else."

Lest shook his head. "This isn't funny, Arthur."

Arthur couldn't keep his voice from cracking. "You could call this revenge."

After what once again felt like an eternity, Lest nodded and crept his way back down to the party downstairs. He closed the door behind him and left Arthur standing in the darkness of his room. The prince, having completely given up on meeting with Vishnal, flopped back down into bed and tore into the mattress with his fingernails. When it proved not to be distracting enough, he dug his nails into chest and stomach. He couldn't go downstairs now. He couldn't risk seeing Lest again.

He nearly tore his heart out when he heard Margaret exclaim loudly about the blood on Lest's sleeve and the stampede of footsteps that began clamoring up the stairs.