"Ma amie?"
Your half closed eyes snapped open and your arm slammed down and against the table in surprise. Wincing and rubbing your forearm, you looked over at Francis accusingly. Truthfully, he wasn't to blame for you spacing out (again), but it was so easy to blame the pervert you had known since you were nothing but a micro nation.
"Hm?" You ask, forcing yourself to keep looking at him rather than his friend, Antonio, who was standing up for whatever reason he mentioned while you were straying in your thoughts. Forcing back your daydreams, you shook away the ridiculous misgivings and leaned back in the café chair. It was too lovely a day to wither away, pining over the impossible. The impossible that was already several yards away flirting with a waitress. A French waitress at that. With high cheekbones and long legs. The more you thought, the more irritated you became.
Francis grabbed your hand to prevent the further slaughtering of your ice cream, which you had been unconsciously stabbing. You relaxed your grip on the spoon, but pulled your hand away from his. You assumed your own hesitation at being touched by him was due to his long history of perverted habits, or perhaps because he was your childhood friend and it felt much too intimate. Either way, you avoided it when you could.
"I can't tell," he murmured, infuriatingly bemused and seemingly oblivious to the suddenly tense atmosphere, "whether you're ogling the waitress or Antonio. I'm going to assume Antonio, as he has been your object of obsession for several weeks now, or am I wrong?"
"You're not wrong," You muttered, suddenly tired. He was more perceptive than you had thought, although you didn't mind him knowing you favored his friend. It had nothing to do with him, so why did you feel so pleased?
"Don't bother with him." The smile that constantly graced Francis's face disappeared startlingly fast.
You raised an eyebrow. You hadn't seen Francis this serious in quite a while.
"And why not?"
"He doesn't swing that way. Haven't you seen him around Romano?"
Yes, you had noticed Romano. It surprised you that someone else did, and you wondered why you didn't feel more emotion over the confirmation that 'your object of obsession' was interested in another guy.
"Besides," Francis continued, his chair scraping back as he stood.
"What are you-?"
Before you realized what was happening, he stole your hand from the table and kissed it.
"I don't want you thinking about any other guy but me," He whispered, looking much too deeply into your eyes.
Was that earnestness you detected in his voice?
No!
You slapped him, perhaps with more force than you intended, and pushed from the table, inadvertently causing it to tip. A cup was knocked over, splashing Francis with its contents. Guilt and, even more so, panic swelled in your chest. You scrambled to your feet, aware of the stares that were suddenly centered on your table.
"Oh God, I'm sorry!" You reached for a napkin only to knock over your glass of ice cream as well.
What had he been thinking, saying something like that? You had so carefully ignored even the slightest feeling of affection towards him that went past friendship. Everything had been so neatly repressed. Why did he have to say something to make your heart race so much? The walls you had erected were crumbling with the realization that he could so easily disillusion you with nothing but a kiss. When had you become so sensitive?
Reigning in your thoughts and shaking your head to clear it, you blurted, "I-I've got to go!" before abandoning your efforts to salvage the situation and turning to leave. You paused for only a moment before half walking/half running away from the café, and away from Francis.