Arthur is charming when he thinks no one can see him. He is not yet aware that Francis is awake, and he is dancing around the kitchen while making a pot of tea. His hair is sticking up at odd angles, and his curling toes peek out from under the hem of jeans that were just a bit too large. Francis is already feeling a surge of affection for the man, which only gets worse when he realizes that Arthur is happily singing, content in his belief that Francis was still fast asleep.
"If I had been born 200 years ago, I would have been a sailor and a'sailing I would go. I'd sail around the capes and across the..." He trailed off, attempting to remember what came next; Francis could just picture the cross look on his face at the lapse of memory. Arthur couldn't remember it, so he just picked up at the next part he remembered, "I would know the waters and the waters would know me and I would cut across the waves and be as happy as can be. I'd be landless, I'd be loveless, I'd be flight and fancy free. I would know the waters and the waters would know me."
His singing was temporarily drowned under the steam of water as he fills up the kettle for his morning cuppa. By the time the kettle is filled and the faucet turned off, he's simply humming, and Francis can't help the thrum of disappointment that runs through him. But then again, even his hum was lovely and Francis felt himself falling in love with him all the more.
The kettle began to whistle, cutting through the air and pulling him away from his thoughts and Arthur away from his song. Taking that as his cue to leave, Francis crept back to his room and reemerged moments later, pretending he just woke up.
Stumbling into the kitchen, he let out a fake yawn as he wrapped his arms around Arthur from behind. "'Morning, cher." He sleepily mumbled, playing his part to the best of his abilities, content to save Arthur a tiny bit of embarrassment.
Arthur returned the greeting with a slightly annoyed grumble, though Francis knew that the corner of his lips twitched upwards as he nuzzled into his neck. Francis pulls away from the embrace moments later so that Arthur can hand him a mug of tea and a piece of toast. They sit at the table to eat, content with their quiet morning routine. There's a crumb perched on Francis' bottom lip, a smear of jam on Arthur's hand, and Francis' foot was gently rubbing Arthur's lower leg as he hands him a section of the newspaper.
They sit in silence and Francis smiles at the warmth that has settled in his chest. He loved moments like this the most; the comfortable silence, broken only by the rustling of paper and the quiet thunk of mugs being set on the table.
Francis smiles and sets down his portion of the paper before he speaks. "I love you,"
Arthur peers at him over the paper and chuckles low in his throat. "I love you too, you sentimental fool."