It happened again.

Arthur Kirkland slammed the fridge door, fuming, and practically ran back to his desk. It was the third time this week someone has stolen his sandwich, and he wasn't going to take it anymore. There was a limit to his patience (not a very big one, he had to admit) and this was it. The sandwiches at the cafeteria were far from satisfactory and he wasn't going to settle for them just because someone was to lazy to make their own lunch. He sat at his computer and started to type:

To the person who keeps

stealing my sandwiches

(Turkey and Swiss with mayo

on rye),

This is ridiculous. We

are full-grown adults,

not children. Please take

responsibility for your

actions and stop stealing

other people's property!

He would start with a request. If this didn't work, he would have to resort to some more drastic measures. He didn't exactly know what they were going to be yet, but he was not about to just sit an let someone steal from him. This has gotten personal, and he was prepared to fight for what was rightfully his. After putting the note on the fridge, he returned to his desk to do some work, hungry and grumpy.

An hour later, when he decided to make himself a cup of tea, he discovered another piece of paper stuck to the fridge over his note. He had gotten a response.

Dear Turkey

and Swiss on rye,

I have your precious

sandwich, it's safe. For

now. Put 10 dollars on the

plate in the fridge or you'll

never see it undigested

again.

He couldn't believe his eyes. The twat actually had the guts to make demands! Not only was this person a thief, but also a downright blackmailer. Arthur took his freshly brewed tea to his desk and started typing so frantically it was a miracle the keyboard stayed intact.

Dear Sandwich Thief,

Please grow up and

just return my

sandwich! This is very

unprofessional! If I

ever find out who's

doing this I won't

hesitate to CONTACT

HR!

Arthur realised bringing Human Resources into this feud was foul play, but he didn't care anymore. If it got the git to stop acting like a moron - it was worth it. All he wanted was to get his sandwich back, but if the thief wanted war - he was going to get it.

The response to his note came no more that fifteen minutes later. It was taped to the fridge, right underneath the one he had written, and this time it was accompanied by a picture of his sandwich, on a paper plate, a piece of it cut off and held by a hand. A male hand, Arthur noted. This narrowed his list of suspects down slightly. Although, judging by the level of immaturity this person represented, he was starting to lean towards Gilbert being the thief.

Dear Turkey and Swiss

For every hour you continue to

refuse my demands I'll remove

another bite of this sandwich.

Please take this seriously. We are

professionals, after all.

- Sandwich Thief

This was just outrageous! Who did he think he was?! A bloody kidnapper from one of those ridiculous american movies?! At that point the Brit had ran out of threats. He might have suspected the stupid albino, but as long as he didn't have any proof he could hardly go do the HR and say 'Hello, someone has been stealing my sandwiches. I think it's Gilbert Beilschmidt from accounting, simply because he's an arse.' Resigned he sat down at his desk and wrote a short, simple message.

Sandwich Thief,

Why are you doing

this?

At this point Arthur was barely getting any work done, checking the fridge door every couple of minutes. And sure enough, after a while, he found what he'd been waiting for. It was another picture of his thoughtfully prepared lunch in somebody's hand with just a mocking:

Tick tock, T-Swiss,

TICK.

TOCK.

Why, oh God, why was he cursed by working with such insufferable idiots!? The worst part was that he knew perfectly well the wellbeing of his lunch depended on how willing to cooperate he was. Which was not at all. He was not going to be threatened by a random moron sticking a ransom note to the fridge. He should just get back to work and give up on the damned sandwich. 'I hope you choke on it, tosser' he muttered to himself before sitting in front of the computer and sighing deeply.

The next note, or, should he say, an entire conversation, came as a surprise to him. He felt like the sun was finally shining through dark, thick clouds of incompetent, kleptomaniac coworkers and a growling stomach. Someone was taking his side.

Dear Sandwich Thief,

Hi. This is Tina from

HR. Please return the

sandwich and we won't

investigate the matter

any further.

Buy me a pizza

No.

By the way… I'm not even

going to eat it. Just gonna

chew it up and spit it out.

How does that make you feel?

Arthur gasped. Not only was this man being utterly ridiculous, apparently he was also extremely cruel. Who would do something like that?! Who would destroy someone's hard work just for their own amusement?! He felt frustrated and helpless, and whoever the git was - he already hated him.

You're the worst!

The level of the Brit's annoyance has skyrocketed. That's it, he was changing jobs tomorrow. I mean, what kind of company hired such idiots? There had to be something definitely wrong with the management.

The fact, that the next note came with a picture of an empty plate didn't come as much of a surprise (although, he had to admit, the note itself was really well written), but that did not lessen his exasperation.

Oh my dear T-Swizzle. I'm so very far from being the worst.

Mankind's flaws can't be judged on such a simple spectrum

as that. Open your eyes. You lash out at such pettiness, but

ignore the hideous nature of the world at large. There is a

hunger, my dear Turkey and Swiss on Rye, a hunger that is

spreading from the deepest, darkest pits of this hellish

corporate chasm. The sandwich is a birth cry of a new era,

and when the revolution finally comes, pitiful vagrants like

yourself will be the first to be devoured.

The deed is done. Weep for the world you once knew.

For it is but crumbs upon the sill of despair. Soon to

be swept away by the righteous gusts of Change.

Arthur Kirkland rolled his eyes. Okay, so it definitely wasn't Gilbert. The twat didn't even know half the words used it this monologue.

He decided there was not much more he could do, so he should just get back to work and forget the whole feud. He lost - it happens, no need to dwell on it.

That same day, at approximately 3.30 p.m., Francis Bonnefoy walked into the kitchen, meaning to brew himself a cup of coffee, to keep himself going. He was having a pretty good day, he had to admit. Work was good, everything else was splendid…

Up to this moment.

Hi, Tina from HR again.

Francis, we've checked the office's

printer queue and traced the

requests back to your desk.

Could you please come to see me

at your earliest convenience.

He paled immediately. The fridge seemed to be mocking him. All he wanted was to play a little prank on Arthur. He was always so stuck up, Francis just wanted to help him relax. And, admittedly, make fun of him at the same time, but that was not the point. The point was that he had never meant any harm.

Still pale as a sheet, he turned around and walked back to his desk.

It was almost 5 p.m., ergo, almost time for Arthur to go home. He had fifteen more minutes of working to do and, as he was pretty tired after all the events of the day, he decided to make himself a strong cup of tea. He walked into the kitchen area, put the kettle on and prepared a mug with a teabag in it.

That's when he saw it.

He wasn't sure whether he was shocked, ecstatic or just thoroughly satisfied. It turned out there is justice in this world. Tina took his side again. Only this time, it wasn't empty threats. This time, she actually knew, who was behind all this. And, boy, was it beautiful. Francis would finally be seen for the pretentious idiot he is, and the best part was the piece of paper stuck underneath the note from Tina.

I'm sorry please don't fire me.

A sly grin spread across Arthurs face. He hoped the flamboyant cheese bastard really did get fired.

Okay, maybe not. Despite their constant quarrelling, he actually kind of liked the frog (which he would, obviously, never admit). But, wether the HR would fire him or not, Arthur could bask in the glory of his victory. Because he did win this one. Maybe he didn't get the sandwich back, and maybe he had the HR on his side, but in the end it was his job that was secure.

In a splendid mood, he went back to his desk, finished what he had to do, drank up his tea, and at precisely 5.05 p.m. was headed towards the lifts.

When the metal doors opened, Arthur almost squealed in excitement. But obviously, he was a gentleman, and therefore would never do such a thing. Instead, he just smirked and took his place next to the other blond, who was leaning against the wall with his head down.

'So…' he began, a little too gleefully. 'Did you get fired, then?'

Francis looked up, resigned. 'Non, but they did say they would be monitoring me from now on.'

'I'm so sorry, that's going to be a pain in the ass.'

Arthur did not sound sorry at all.

'Oh, don't act like you're not enjoying it! Admit it, you thrive on my suffering! What did I ever do to deserve such contempt from you?!'

'You're an arse. Besides, don't be so melodramatic, you got what you deserved.' he paused for a moment, suddenly realising something. 'Why did you even steal my sandwich? You always make fun of my cooking. If you're too lazy to make your own lunch, why not steal something you would actually enjoy?'

Francis smiled sheepishly. 'Ah, you see, I wasn't kidding when I said I wasn't going to eat it. I wasn't going to risk food poisoning. I was just trying to mess with you a bit. You know, bring some excitement into your life. You're always so serious…'

'What did you do with the sandwich, then? And if you tell me you threw it away, I swear I'm going to punch you.'

'Non, I gave it to a homeless guy in the street. I figured out he would appreciate it the most.'

Arthur looked at Francis, slightly shocked. Apparently his brain wasn't filled only with sex and wine, and he did have a human side, after all.

'Good. I can live with being hungry for a day for that.' Francis smiled at him and, for some reason, it made his stomach turn slightly. And he was almost certain it wasn't because it was empty. And then the frenchman started playing with his hair, as if he was nervous for some reason.

Suddenly, startling them both, the lift reached the ground floor with a loud 'DING!'.

Francis looked up at him. More stomach turning.

'Listen, I feel a little bad for making you walk around hungry all day. What do you say we go get something to eat? My treat, of course.'

Arthur frowned. This did sound suspiciously like a date. But he was hungry. Maybe something to eat would make his stomach stop annoying him and start acting like a proper organ should? He really didn't know what that was about, it felt as if he had a swarm of bees living in his belly.

'Alright, that doesn't sound half bad. Do you know anything nearby?'

'Actually, I do. My little cousin works there. It serves italian cuisine. Bon?'

'Sure, why not.' They started walking. 'By the way, you need to up your game when it comes to writing, for a moment there I thought Gilbert was the Sandwich Thief.'

'Well, that's not that surprising. He saw me printing the second one and he demanded that I let him in on the prank. A couple of the pages were purely of his design.'

'That explains the 'T-Swizzle', I guess.'

They both laughed at that. Arthur cleared his throat and tried to change the subject. 'So, are we nearly there?'

'Oui, almost.' Francis gave him a charming smile.

Wait, what? A charming smile, seriously? Was his brain now working against him as well as his stomach? And now he was blushing like a schoolgirl who's just been asked to the prom. There was definitely something wrong with his body. Maybe he has been abducted by an alien, or something? Yes, that would've been a reasonable explanation.

'Are you alright, cher?' He seemed concerned. Why?

'Yes, quite. Also, I have no idea what that means in your language, but in here Cher is a celebrity. An icon, I admit, plenty talented, but quite old, I'm afraid. So I don't think it's a suitable nickname for anyone.'

'Ah, but it's what's on the inside that counts, isn't it?' this time, the smile was slightly mocking.

'Okay, Paulo Coelho, I only agreed to eat with you, you don't have to try to charm me, because that won't get you anywhere!' Arthur sped up slightly.

Francis looked at his back with a smirk. 'We'll see about that…'

Authors note:

This fic was inspired by the magic of the internet. Go google 'feud over a sandwich', and you'll understand. I just couldn't not do it.

It doesn't quite feel complete, but I figured I didn't want to make it too long. If you think I should continue it, let me know, but for now I'm marking it as complete.

Also, isn't it so much like Arthur to describe the butterflies as a 'swarm of bees'? I think it is.

By the way, did you know that people, who review live longer? Yeah. Totally.