"Um, Artie? I might have...um...accidentally...oh, how do I put this?"
Arthur looked up from his copy of 'Sherlock Holmes' and rose a thick eyebrow, "What, Oliver?" he questioned, slipping a bookmark in between the pages to save his place.
Oliver fidgeted with his fingertips. "Uh... you wouldn't know how to get blood out of a pink scarf, would you?"
"A...pink scarf?" the green-eyed Brit asked, "Whose blood do you need to get out of a pink scarf?"
Oliver looked at his feet. "If I said Flavio's, would you be mad?"
"...What happened?" Arthur stated, ignoring the question completely.
Oliver starting scraping one foot along the floor. "If I said Flavio was unconscious in the basement, would you be mad?"
Arthur sighed, "Why is he unconscious in the basement? If you give me a good and truthful reason, I won't be mad; promise."
Oliver pouted like a small child. "Don't wanna tell you. You'll get mad no matter what I say."
"Oliver. Tell me. Now." Arthur commanded, crossing his arms over his chest.
Oliver shuffled his feet, then darted out of the room.
"Oliver!" Arthur huffed, watching as the other British man ran; rolling his eyes, he chased after the other man.
Oliver huddled under his bed, knees tucked under his chin. He was trembling.
Arthur knew Oliver well - probably better than the strawberry-blonde knew himself; he knew Oliver's regular 'hiding spots' when he thought Arthur would be mad at him, for whatever reason. The most prominent being his bedroom. Arthur knocked on the door, "Oliver? I know you're in there, come out; we'll talk."
Oliver shook his head. "Nuh-uh. I'm staying in here. You'll get all dark-magicky on me and I'll end up with green hair again."
A sigh escaped the green-eyed Brit, "First off, that was because you turned my hair pink! Second, I won't. Know come out before I actually start considering that as an opportunity."
Oliver crawled out from under the bed and opened the door, then rushed back under the bed.
Seeing the other man under the bed, Arthur rolled his eyes; "You're just like those darn cats..."
Oliver mewed softly. "Miao. Now go away."
"Oliver; I want to talk." Arthur's tone was no-nonsense, his patience for the other British man growing thin and frazzled quickly.
Oliver sighed, and came out from under the bed. "What do you want to talk about?"
Arthur gave a tiny smile; "I just want to know why Flavio is in the basement."
Oliver sighed. "Flavi and I had a little bit of a...disagreement. Let's just say that catering knives are sharper than they look." Oliver pulled up his sleeve to see cuts all up his forearm.
With a nod, Arthur sighed, "Do you want to patch those up?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Oliver nodded, clearly embarrassed.
"Alright; let's go get the bandages..." Arthur muttered, walking out of the room.
Oliver followed Arthur like a puppy, trying not to let the scratches show.
Soon enough, Arthur was gently bandaging Oliver's arm with practiced hands. The duo had gone through this process more times than what was countable.
Oliver started sniffling. The cuts hurt more then he was letting on.
Noticing the other's sniffles, Arthur looked at the watering blue eyes of Oliver. He sighed, finishing patching the other up as quickly as he could while still being gentle. Wiping away the strawberry blonde's tears, Arthur muttered, "How about we go out and get you something to eat, hm? I don't remember seeing you eat today."
Oliver nodded. "Y-yeah. Thank you."
"No problem; let's go."
Oliver grabbed Arthur's arm and followed him out the door, sniffling.
"What do you want to go get, Oliver?" Arthur asked, leading Oliver out to the car and opening the passenger door for the strawberry blonde.
Oliver slid into the seat and looked at his bandaged arms. "Anything but Italian."
Despite himself, Arthur chuckled, "Alright. No Italian."
Oliver smiled. "You pick. I tend to make a lot of my meals from scratch, so I don't know a lot about eating out."
"How about Chinese? Yao's restaurant isn't that far away." Arthur responded, putting his keys into the ignition.
"Sounds good." Said Oliver, giggling.
And off they drove to Yao's restaurant; leaving a fashionista Italian locked in the basement for just short of three hours.
