Arthur snorted into his cup of Earl Grey, throwing the flimsy tabloid across the table. It slid off the tabletop and into the lap of his company, who pulled a frosting-covered fork from his mouth and looked down at the mag. "'More on page 24.'"

Francis swallowed his bite of vanilla-frosted cake and smirked, raising the magazine up to eye level. "Hmm, I wonder," he hummed, placing down his fork and flipping through the tabloid. He stopped and began to read, blue eyes skimming down the page. "Do you think so?"

"I'm not sure," Arthur replied with a huff. "They're always fighting. Those shots of them holding hands might be doctored."

"But they do seem to go on a lot of outings together," Francis protested, creasing the tabloid over and turning it so Arthur could see. He tapped a finger on a corner photo of themselves, captured mid-stride down a public sidewalk, hands intertwined.

"I still say they're mortal enemies." Arthur took a sip of tea, eyes closed contently. "You know how obsessive the razz is. They'd certainly turn to photoshop to please their readers."

"But mortal enemies do not cuddle, Arthur!" Francis said hotly, pointing to another picture of the two of them curled up together on one side of a booth together, his own head resting on Arthur's shoulder. "This photo looks terrible lovey-dozey, no?"

"Okay, I'll admit it does," Arthur said. He set down his now-empty teacup and tilted his head. "But their relationship is still questionable, yes? Neither of them have confirmed it to anyone. Have they?"

"No, but ooh! Alfred and Honda Sakura have."

Arthur quirked his bushy eyebrows at the mention of his younger step-brother. "They wrote about more people other than us?" he asked, sliding out of his seat and moving over to sit beside Francis. "Scoot, I want to see who Alfie is with."

"The love interest in that weird science-fiction movie that was basically Godzilla meets Transformers? What was it again..?"

"'Atlantic Edge'?"

"Yes, that one."

"Ah. That movie was decent, even though it was Alfie." Arthur rested his chin on Francis' shoulder, reading with half-lidded eyes. "They're quite cute together. I wonder how Honda can stand noisy little Alfie, though."

"I ask myself that same question about you every single day," Francis sighed, turning his head and brushing his lips over Arthur's temple. "Not that we're in the same boat as them, of course. Since Franthur isn't canon."

"That's just what they think." Arthur wrinkled his nose. "And really? 'Franthur'? As if your name would come before mine."

"Obviously it would. I top, don't I? Whoever tops gets to have their name come first in the portmanteau. Duh. Plus," he added, waving a hand and dropping the tabloid onto the table, reaching for his cake and carefully bringing it toward him. "'Arthis' doesn't sound nearly as good. It sounds like some sort of disease."

"And 'Franthur' doesn't? Hm, let me have a bite of that." Arthur adjusted his chin on Francis' shoulder and opened his mouth.

"I ought to shove this entire cake in your face. But I won't, since I know you'll just retaliate with something even messier, and this jacket is new and expensive." Francis slowly raised the fork up and let Arthur lean to take it in his mouth.

"You care more about the jacket than my handsome face? Rude," he accused, once he chewed a few times and swallowed. "Oh, that's good… it's French vanilla, isn't it."

"You know it is. All things French are delicious, especially sweets like this cake and yours truly." Francis angled his head a bit and winked down at Arthur, who scowled and scoffed.

"That was bad," he spat. "You're just terrible."

"Worse than the sneaky, photo-doctoring paparazzi?"

"Of course." Arthur inched closer, slipping one arm around Francis'.

Francis smiled slyly. "I propose that we give them something that they don't have to edit," he murmured, leaning down and pressing their foreheads together. The tips of their noses touched. He brought up a hand and caressed Arthur's chin.

Arthur angled up his face and closed his eyes. "I agree," he breathed as their lips brushed. The sounds of cameras flashing – which they'd learned to simply block out and ignore whenever they were in public like this – was a distant white noise as they imagined what kind of headlines this kiss would produce.