For some reason Francis cannot sleep that night. He reaches over for the novel he had been reading earlier, only to find that it's not there. He's suddenly struck with the realization that he left it in Arthur and Alfred's apartment earlier that evening. He wonders whether it would really be worth getting out of bed for, but since it didn't seem like he was going to be falling asleep anytime soon, he decides to go ahead and get it.
This turns out to be much harder than he originally anticipated because they lock their doors at night; Francis is annoyed to find out. It was a ridiculously hypocritical annoyance since Francis also locks his doors at night; but since it was 2.34 in the morning, it felt like the greatest crime to ever be committed.
It takes him 20 minutes to dig the spare key Alfred had given them out of their junk drawer; a difficult enough feat during the day, but practically impossible at night. Finally he stumbles over to their door once more, quietly unlocking it and padding into the dark apartment.
His book is lying on the coffee table, exactly where he had set it down earlier in the evening, and he was just about to head back when he heard a noise come from the kitchen. It was most likely just Alfred or Arthur, out of bed for a glass of water, but he wanted to check just in case.
He quietly goes to the kitchen; carefully peering around the edge of the door. But instead of a burglar, he finds Arthur, quietly singing the song from earlier and slowly waltzing around the kitchen with his eyes closed.
And oh, he is lovely. His eyes closed, swishing around with his invisible partner. "There's someone I'm longing to see. I hope that he turns out to be someone to watch over me. Although he may not be the man some girls think of as handsome, to my heart he carries the key. Won't you tell him please; to put on some speed, follow my lead. Oh, how I need someone to watch over me."
And there it is once more. That smile, that perfect sereneness. He's never like this during the day. Normally Arthur is guarded and careful, but now, oh, but now he's soft and warm; he's let all the inhibitions and stubbornness out of him. He's simply breathtaking.
The realization comes across Francis the way these things normally do. One minute everything is fine and then- oh. Oh. Maybe it wasn't love in the flower shop, maybe it wasn't love when they cooked dinner together, maybe it was not love earlier that afternoon when Francis came home from worked and flopped on Arthur's couch without a second thought. Maybe it wasn't love then, but it is now.
Everything's changed, and Francis is the only one who has noticed. Arthur is still dancing, he can still hear Alfred's snoring, and he imagines that Matthew is still awake, working on his article. It would seem nothing has changed on the outside, but Francis' world has been completely turned over.
He knows it's silly, but for just a second he lets himself pretend that he could be the someone Arthur's singing about. Suddenly he can hardly bear to watch the scene in front of him anymore. It is too much, and while his heart is feeling warm and full, he also feels like someone has dumped a bucket of water over his head. He allows himself to watch for one more second, before he has to turn away. But the second does not last long enough, before he shakes his head and noiselessly lets himself out.