Dandelions

Summary: Between losing his job, getting stuck as a 16-year-old boy's hired friend, getting an irritating new roommate who he may or may not be developing a crush on, and having his best friend sleep on his kitchen floor every other night, things aren't easy for Arthur Kirkland. And things only get harder when said 16-year-old boy falls for him.

Arthur Kirkland realized halfway through his boss' rant that he was being fired. He also realized a few seconds after that he didn't really care. That was a bit concerning, considering how this had been his job for the last four years. His thick eyebrows came and knotted together as he stared hard at his employer's red, swelled up face, trying to figure out why he wasn't more upset, or at least surprised.

Sure, it hadn't been a great job. In fact, it had been downright embarrassing and degrading at times. No one had much respect for waiters, after all. But still, it was better then flipping slabs of meat downtown at the local Burger King. And due to the poor economy at the moment, finding another job would be a right pain in the ass.

Arthur frowned. This should be upsetting news and yet all he could manage to feel at the moment was a vague disgust for the streak of dirt smeared across his employer's nose. Perhaps he was simply in shock and the normal feelings of disappointment and frustration would set in later that day when he was preparing supper for himself.

His boss finally appeared to have stopped yelling and was staring at Arthur with a strange expression. "You… do understand why I'm firing you, don't you?" he asked slowly, rubbing at the bridge of his nose and smearing the bit of dirt.

Arthur blinked out of his stupor then quickly nodded, plastering on a stiff smile. "Losing my temper with a customer, being sarcastic on more than one occasion…" Arthur counted the reasons off on his fingers then rolled his eyes. "Although half of those times they didn't even realize I was being sarcastic, the idiots."

His employer gave him a sharp look before sighing and seeming to sag down in his office chair. "I don't think this is the job for you."

Arthur silently agreed.

"I'm sure you'll find a new job that… suits you better." They both exchanged fake, tight smiles and stood up, shaking hands stiffly.

"Right…" Arthur heard himself mutter, suddenly feeling a lot more tired. "Right. So…"

"… What now?" Arthur found himself asking his beer later that night at a crowded, smoky bar. He wrapped his fingers around the thick glass and bowed his head, regarding the drink with an irritable expression. "Should I just go back to England?" he continued miserably, sloshing the liquid in its glass as if trying to shake an answer out of it.

"Dude, you are wasted," a voice snickered by his ear, making Arthur nearly drop and spill his drink.

After he recovered he turned in his stool and scowled at the tall, pale man standing beside him, leaning against the bar. "Talking to inanimate objects? Yeah, wasted."

"Shove off, Gil," Arthur grumbled, turning his attention back to the drink he was nursing. He frowned when he heard his friend sigh and slip into the seat next to him. "I said-"

"I don't really care, you know?" Gilbert brushed him off easily, grabbing then beer from him and lifting it to his lips before Arthur could protest.

Gloomily, Arthur watched the liquid slowly disappear into his friend's mouth. "I paid for that," he muttered petulantly.

Gilbert ignored him, slapping the now empty glass down on the counter and smacking his lips loudly. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before cocking his head to eye Arthur silently for a moment, fingers sweeping through his ashy hair. "So I hear you got booted out from that crap ass job of yours," he said brightly, a grin stretching his lips.

"You're just a horrible person," Arthur replied with a blank look before he frowned. "How do you know about that?"

"A little birdie told me." He grinned and crossed his arms over his hest, propping his feet up on the counter, gaining a dirty look from the bartender. He twitched his boots, left to right then right to left, narrow eyes studying Arthur critically. "So… how are ya gonna get rent for that shacky little apartment of yours?"

Arthur groaned. "Are you trying to make me feel worse?"

Gilbert shrugged and flicked his finger at a bit of dirt marring his black boot. "Maybe." He paused, listening to the loud laughter of a group of men on the other end of the bar. "Look, Artie, just get a part time, sucky job until you can land a real one." He rolled his shoulders and arched an eyebrow. "Easy."

"And unrealistic," Arthur added. He smacked Gilbert's feet off the counter and lifted his hand for another beer. "A part time sucky job isn't going to get me enough money for rent."

"That, my friend, is why you need a room mate." Gilbert slapped his shoulder and grinned at the glare Arthur shot him. "It'll be good for you and your lonely little self."

"You're not moving in."

Gilbert snickered and rolled his red eyes, clicking his tongue as he watched the bartender slide another glass towards them. "Please. The awesome me live in that shit house?" He snorted and shook his head. "Put up an ad. No wait…" he broke off then flashed a grin, the type of grin that Arthur had learned over the years to be wary of. "Because I'm such an awesome friend, I'll give you a hand here. I have an old buddy that needs a new place."

"Is he an alcoholic?"

"What? No, of course not. Not really. No more than you are," Gilbert added. "He's a good guy I swear." When Arthur didn't look convinced Gilbert threw his arms up in the air and sighed loudly. "He's a freaking good cook, isn't that enough? You're practically half dead from the shit you make everyday so this is a plus for you."

"There's nothing wrong with my cooking!" Arthur snapped, grabbing the beer and glaring at him over the rim. "Besides… you'll probably fix me up with some sort of mental-"

"Oh come on!"

"-nut case fre-"

"What if I got you a job too?" Gilbert grabbed his drink away, raising his voice.

Arthur broke off from his rant and frowned at him, green eyes narrowing a fraction. "A job?" he repeated incredulously.

"Yeah, a part time sorta job. It's really easy and it pays pretty nice for that kinda thing. How 'bout it?" Gilbert leaned back and tilted his head, his wide grin cutting through the dim lighting of the bar.

Normally, Arthur wouldn't ever agree to any sort of deal with Gilbert. Yes, they were friends, and that was exactly why Arthur knew better. But the several beers he had had spun a pretty daze over his thoughts and he found himself nodding slowly and reaching out a hand. "Yeah, yeah okay. Deal."

And for the second time that day Arthur shook hands.

Ever morning Arthur Kirkland would wake up sharp and early, wipe the sleep from his eyes and trudge his way to the bathroom. He would scowl at his reflection in the mirror over the sink then splash his face with water and brush his teeth, not bothering to do anything with his hair (it was impossible to manage).

Once that was done he would trudge back out into the hallway to the kitchen so he could make himself a cup of tea and eat his cereal while he watched the news and tut over the current events.

Only, that didn't happen this morning.

Arthur's normal routine was perfect (excluding the slight hangover) until he exited the bathroom to make his way to the kitchen. He stopped, dark eyebrows furrowing as he squinted at the man in the narrow hallway a few feet from him. The throbbing in the side of his head was making it hard to think properly and it took him a good long minute to process that there was a stranger in his apartment obstructing his pathway to the kitchen.

"Who the bloody fuck are you?" Arthur was never, especially with a hangover, a good morning person.

The stranger frowned at his tone and glanced over his shoulder before taking a small step forward and brushing his blonde, shoulder length hair back. "Bit rude, aren't you?" the man remarked, arching a thin eyebrow. "Gilbert didn't tell me you would be British."

Arthur opened his mouth to shoot back a snarky reply when Gilbert crashed into the hall from the kitchen, a Subway bag swinging in his hand. "Oh so you've met!"

"Who the hell is this guy?" Arthur demanded, gesturing towards the stranger while shooting him a scowl.

"Uh, your new roomie, remember?"

Arthur stared blankly at Gilbert and squinted his eyes, wondering if he had somehow heard that wrong. He glanced from Gilbert's raised eyebrows to the strange man who was watching him with bemused eyes and noticed for the first time the bags at the man's feet. "Wait… wait, what?"

Gilbert frowned at him then shrugged and shook his head as he strode forward and draped an arm over the man's shoulders. "Right. Ignore him; his memory has been failing him in his old age. Now your room would be down here…"

Arthur gaped as the two scooted past him and headed towards the guest room, the guest room that Arthur had turned into his makeshift sewing room.

"Wait! Just- I don't even know this guy's name! And you never-"

"Francis," the man said simply, cutting off Arthur's prepared rant. He smiled suddenly and swooped forward to grasp Arthur's hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss the knuckles.

Arthur made a choked sound in the back of his throat (and it most definitely was not a squeak) and snapped his hand back quickly, shooting Gilbert a look that read murder.

The man, Francis, pulled back and laughed softly, exchanging a look with Gilbert. "I am sure we will get to know each other, oui, Arthur?"

The first thought that cut through the ache in his head was that there was something indefinably creepy about the way Francis said his name. The second thought that came a few seconds after was that not only was this guy annoyingly attractive, but he was also French. Fantastic.

"I don't like you," Arthur said blankly.

Gilbert scowled and quickly grabbed him by the elbow, motioning Francis to go on ahead to the room as he pulled Arthur aside. "Look," he hissed. "We made a deal last night. You want that job, right? Just help me out, alright? If Francis has to stay one more night with me my girlfriend will throw a freakin' fit."

"So you dump him on me."

Gilbert grinned then rolled his shoulders. "He'll split the rent with you. I dunno why you're getting your panties in such a twist about this."

Arthur glared then glanced back to see Francis standing awkwardly outside the doorway of the guest room, bags slung over his shoulder. "Fine… fine. But you never even told me what the job is."

Gilbert brightened and flashed his friend a quick thumbs up before clapping Arthur roughly on the shoulder. "It's sort of like… like babysitting, you know?"

"Babysitting?" Arthur repeated dubiously. "What the hell kinda job-"

Gilbert interrupted him impatiently as he fished around in his Subway bag, crinkling the plastic loudly. "The parents are rich. Like fucking, filthy rich." He rubbed his thumb and middle finger together as emphasis. "Besides… it's not exactly like babysitting. It's… special."

And Arthur, in a momentary lapse of common sense, didn't bother asking Gilbert to specify what "special" entailed.

A/N: Pleeease guys, don't ask me about my other fanfics. I'm sorry I haven't updated them in months. I've just moved and I've been jumping into a lot of different fandoms lately so I haven't had the inspiration. I haven't given up hope on my other fics so just be patiant with me. Thanks!