There were very few things they agreed on. Or rather, there were very few things that they openly agreed on. Usually each made a point of adopting the opposite opinion of the other, in matters mostly trivial but also serious. Out of habit and a sort of lack of reason to do otherwise are two reasons why.
They did not agree that black was always in fashion (because it one thought it hideous, one perfect in that shade, ripped and threaded with safety pin) and they did not agree that a commissioned double bed was worth the money or the effort of getting it up stairs (because one thought it was an excellent idea to get a cheap one from IKEA and the other was traumatised at the very thought).
They did not even agree that the sky was blue (They'd argue the shade and one would point out that the sky could be orange, pink, purple at different times of the day, and black at night if it felt so inclined. And the other never saw the sky blue, because the other was English and English skies are grey and overcast so there.)
Ask anyone, their friends, their families, the cashier at their local supermarket who had to stay fifteen extra minutes on the till as they shouted the pros and cons of ready meals at each other, one at the checkout and the other in the aisle (she might have called security and had them physically removed, but it had been quite entertaining); they rarely agreed on anything.
Music was not an exception to this.
The house that Arthur and Francis share is by this point very much their own. The walls of the hallway are adorned with photos, of grinning faces and beautiful views, stolen kisses and chases through crowded streets, moments caught in time. There's a little glass table near the door that somehow matches the very old fashioned phone that rests upon it, and an address book that's filled with handwriting, neat and scrawled.
The kitchen is covered with a smattering of post-it notes (blue and green, Francis' and Arthur's respectively, reminders to get milk, reminders that Arthur is not an idiot and doesn't need to be reminded to get milk, reminders that the last time France didn't remind Arthur that he had to get milk Arthur didn't get milk and was cranky for a whole evening because he didn't like milk-less tea, reminders that Francis was a git and that he was now lacking a small sum of money because Arthur had taken it so he could buy milk) and a coffee maker and kettle reside comfortably together on the counter top. The downstairs bathroom door is crammed with writing, French poems and quotes, because the door is opposite the toilet and makes for a more sophisticated use of time, Francis says, and Arthur finds it to amusing to dispute (but at one point he taped a huge poster of one of Churchill's speeches over the whole thing, a poster that very quickly happened to trip into a shredder).
But one of the most interesting rooms is the living room. It is a mix of styles, sleek and modern combining with old and comfortable. There's a sofa near a very new television connected to a battered VCR that's made of black leather with soft cushions, and there's a second sofa near the fire place that's worn and years old, covered by a thick purple throw that just about conceals the furniture's tatty appearance but doesn't take away its comfort. There are three floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that are crammed with all manner of writings; fairy tales, history novels, adventure stories, cook books, French musicals and English plays, all mixed together and stacked up.
There is a CD player, tightly fitted into a gap between Charles Dickens and Alexandre Dumas, and a tape player on the shelf above it. An iPod dock is on the window sill, and a record player in the space between the wall and a piano, and a guitar is leaning against that. All around the room are stacks of CD's, some bought and others burned, Vinyl's, tapes, empty cases and full ones. One stack of plastic containers reach so high that they've turned into a make-shift table by the more battered sofa and the top most one bears a coffee stain.
Arthur and Francis are very fond of music. Recent music, rap, metal, pop, old music like classical, folk all and any kinds. But what is very important is that they were not fond of the same music. Both were very biased. Most often what they liked to listen to was determined on one very simple thing; whether the artist was French, or whether they were English.