Arthur couldn't take it. He was going to go to the bar, get drunk, and cry himself to sleep. He didn't care what anyone thought anymore, not after everything that had happened to him. His boss had fired him, his family hated him, and worst of all he had no friends that he could vent to.

Arthur stepped out of his flat and walked down the stairs that led to the sidewalk, the cold air stinging his already teary eyes. He didn't know where the nearest bar was so he picked a direction and walked that way until he found a modern night club where he most likely wouldn't fit in, but he didn't care. He walked through the door and immediately regretted it. There were young people, mostly guys, everywhere, dancing and singing and doing whatever that was; Arthur didn't want to know. He walked up to the bar and sat on a bright orange stool. He hated everything about this place- the bright lights, the cheery crowd, the awful techno music- he wanted to go home, but the bar was where the alcohol was, and the alcohol was what would help him forget his problems, even if it only temporarily numbed the pain.

"What can I get you," the bartender asked him. Arthur looked up and noticed that the man had long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail and a very strong French accent.

"Whatever you think is the best to help me forget all my problems for tonight," Arthur didn't care what he drank, as long as he didn't remember anything the next morning.

"Ah, I don't think you need alcohol for that, mon ami." The bartender winked at him. Arthur couldn't tell if this flirting was real or if it was a joke. He did find this man extremely attractive for some reason, and maybe- no, it would never happen, not in a million years.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'm having a bad day. Just please get me something now."

"Okay, whatever you say, eyebrows."

"What did you call me?"

"Nothing, sir." He left and was back a few minutes later. "Here, drink this." Arthur looked at the electric blue drink in his hand. This was not what he had in mind, but this was a bar for young people. Wait, no, Arthur looked around, having a sudden realization. Oh bloody hell, Arthur thought to himself, I'm in a gay bar, aren't I? Great, just what I need. Well at least it can't get any worse. Arthur looked back at the beverage, if you could call it that. It looked more like a weird potion or some sort of chemical. He took a drink. It tasted like fruit and rainbows and everything that Arthur associated with the word gay. He didn't care though, as long as no one he knew saw him here, everything would be fine. Hopefully no one would try to talk to him. He finished the drink and the bartender appeared in front of him again.

"No offence, but you don't look like you belong here, mon ami."

"Oh, I don't believe I do. I just walked to the nearest bar I could find. Pardon me for not being a flaming homosexual. Can I get another one of these, they seem to be working quite well." And they were. Arthur had no idea what was in that blue thing, but he already felt slightly light-headed.

"Sure, but be careful. Don't get too drunk and wander out in the street to get hit by a car or something of the sort."

"I'll be fine."

Arthur had just finished his fourth, no fifth, blue whatever you would call it. He decided that that was enough for tonight and he paid the bartender, whose name he learned was Francis, and stood up to leave.

"Sir," Arthur heard Francis say, "Do you need any help getting home?"

"No I'll be fine, you frog, I can find my way back home."

"Ok, whatever you say."

Arthur made his way to the door. Over the duration of however long he had been there the crowd had definitely died down, but since he was so drunk, Arthur was seeing double and he tried to avoid people who weren't actually there. He finally got to the exit and staggered out, the cold air refreshing. He didn't realize how hot it was in the bar until he stood there, outside, snow falling on and all around him.

"Now which way is my flat," Arthur asked himself. He decided to go left and if it was the wrong direction he could come back and go the other way.

After about an hour or so of wandering the streets, Arthur had somehow gone in a circle and made his way back to that stupid bar. Standing across the street, he could see that it was closed, and Francis was just locking the door.

"Oi, frog! Yeah you! How do I get home?" Arthur noticed that the few people walking by gave him strange looks, but Francis just stood there and laughed. Arthur stumbled across the street, nearly getting ran over in the process.

"So you couldn't find your way back home, no? I told you so." Francis was still laughing. Oh God, his laugh was beautiful.

"Just shut up and take me home, bloody frog."

"I would love to if you stop calling me frog."

"I can't promise anything."

"Alright, come on, mon ami, where do you live?"

"I'm not telling you, creep. You could be some sort of stalker or murderer or something."

"Well how am I supposed to take you home if I don't know where you live?"

"You have a home don't you? Take me there." Arthur couldn't believe what he was saying. He had no filter when he was drunk, and he couldn't help himself. Francis was so bloody beautiful. "My God, I am a flaming homosexual."

"Don't get too far ahead of yourself friend, we haven't even been on a date yet. Call me in the morning when you're less intoxicated and will make better decisions."

"Okay, fine. I live in a flat just down the street."

"Well, there's only one apartment complex within walking distance from here, I will take you there so you can see if it is yours."

"Okay."

"Alright, Arthur, allons-y." Francis took Arthur's hand and half-led half-drug him to his car.

"Okay, Doctor."

"What?"

"Never mind." Arthur giggled.

Arthur sat in the passenger seat of Francis's car, waiting. Francis had forgotten something in the bar and he left Arthur here so he could go get it. Arthur couldn't believe what was happening. It's like there was a voice in the back of his head telling him that he shouldn't be here, but the sound of alcohol rushing through his veins blocked the voice out.

Arthur snapped out of his daze when Francis threw the car door open and sat inside. "Are you still drunk, mon ami, or did you magically become sober while I was gone?" Francis started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

"Why do you keep calling me that? Mon ami," Arthur pronounced the words completely wrong, "what does that even mean? I don't speak frog, you know."

"Ah, you are still drunk, and it's French. It means 'my friend'," Francis's explained. Arthur noticed that his eyes were the bluest blue he had ever seen, but at the same time they were also somehow purple.

"I didn't know guys could have purple eyes," Arthur said, changing the subject completely. That little voice had finally given up and gone to bed. He no longer had any self-control.

"My eyes are not purple, Arthur. Now let's get you home before you start mentioning how pink my hair is."

"Your hair actually does have a pinkish glow to it," Arthur laughed, something he hadn't done in a long time. He suddenly stopped laughing and gasped, "My hair isn't pink, is it? God, I hope not. That would look extremely tacky."

"No, your hair is not pink. It's as blond and as dull as it was five minutes ago."

"My hair's not dull, your hair is dull. Frog."

"Don't make me stop this car."

"No! Please don't! I need to go home," Arthur shouted.

"Okay. I was only joking, Mon Dieu."

"There you go with your bloody French again, saying things that I don't understand."

"Well, get used to it. We're here anyway."

Arthur looked out the window. That was definitely his flat, but he didn't want to go. He didn't want to leave Francis. He liked him. He was nice. He made a sudden decision.

"This is not where I live."

"Are you sure?"

"Yep, I'm sure. This is not my home."

"It has to be."

"Well it's not."

"Fine, then where do you live."

"Here," Arthur started laughing again. He couldn't stop. "I got you didn't I? You believed me when I said I didn't live here. You're so gullible, frog!"

Francis sighed, "You need to go to bed. Come on. What number is your flat?"

"Number 69." Arthur laughed again.

"Very funny, now where do you actually live?"

"Number 13 I think."

"Do you have a key?"

"Yes, it's in my pocket."

"Okay, give it to me. I don't want you to drop it in the snow."

Arthur pulled the key out of his pocket. "Here." He threw it to Francis, who luckily caught it. They started up the stairs that led to flat number 13.

"We're here," Francis said as he unlocked the door. Arthur immediately ran through the door, pushing Francis out of the way, and into his bedroom, jumping into his bed and instantly passing out. Francis quietly followed and set the key down on the bedside table, along with a small slip of paper.

"Bonne nuit, mon ami," Francis whispered as he gently closed the door.