"Well you're insulting me in front of your friends!" the smaller snapped, looking rather upset that Francis was not acknowledging his feelings were a bit bruised. Upon seeing that the Frenchman wasn't going to change his stance on the issue, he shook his head. "By the way, what did the damned Spaniard ask you about when he picked up?"

"'E was asking if I had drank all ze Spanish wines I got from him last week," he replied, and Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Right. We still have those." Francis returned the eye roll, a little less irritatedly.

"'E said 'e would be over in five minutes with Lovino. His brother is visiting from North Italy, but Feli is a darling boy, so zere is nozing to worry about." Arthur still didn't look convinced, and if Francis had to put a direct word to it it would have been displeased or completely unamused.

"I just hope he's not half the little snot Lovino is," the smaller said with a bit of a scoff, rolling his eyes and looking extremely annoyed. The Frenchman laughed easily, trying to dissolve some of the stress and tension that floated around the other like a black cloud.

"'E is lovely! Very nice and sweet and cute. And 'e is almost as good a cook as I am." Francis figured comparing the boy to himself wasn't that great of an idea, since he knew Arthur wouldn't want another "damn frog" in his house.

"Great." He actually sounded rather uninterested compared to the irritation Francis thought he would hear. "Anyway, where are the kids? Shouldn't we tell them we're leaving?" He started back into the living room to go down the hall to the boys' room, Francis still leaning on the counter.

"Last I checked zey were lugging all zeir toys into ze backyard..." he called, and the quick footsteps stopped, there was a pause, and then the Englishman trudged back, previous expression wiped with a mild form of depression.

"Great. Just what I needed. More toys to wash," he groaned, standing in the middle of the entryway with his head in his hands. He was tired, and upset for no reason. His version of what PMSing was to women, if one would. Fingertips touched the backs of his hands, and he peeked between his fingers to see that Francis was now standing in front of him.

"Let's just go, Arthur. Zey'll be fine until Tony gets here." After he said that, Arthur almost melted in his hands and said yes. I want to go right now, he wanted to say. Let's just go right now, and get a room for a week in Paris so I can love you and not have to worry about anything. But of course he didn't. That wasn't like him. So he slapped on the annoyed face and took a rough step away.

"I don't think so. Antonio will be here in a few minutes and we can wait until then. We're going out for me, you realize," he explained, glaring. "You're just there in case someone jumps me." It was the defensive comment of a guilty man, and Arthur knew that's what it sounded like. Thank God Francis was too shallow to catch that. Alright, he wasn't shallow, but he simply passed that up. He knew exactly how Arthur felt, so he metaphorically brushed it of his shoulder with a laugh.

"Shouldn't you be worried zat it will be me who does ze jumping?" Arthur blushed, shaking his head and trying hard not to smile. So what came out was a half-scowl, and a rather goofy look.

"Please, I'm susceptible to that at home." Francis smiled, and was going to step up to him again, when in mid-stride he was stopped by the doorbell. They shared a small glance. "Zey got here quicker zan I thought," Francis commented casually, backing away from Arthur and walking towards the door. The smaller paused a moment before following, half-wishing that it had been a kiss the buzzer interrupted. Before he had time to make any kind of confession, it had to be crammed away as Francis opened their front door.

There were three men on their doorstep. One was tall with dark hair and green eyes, dressed comfortably with a permanent smile stuck on his lips and hands tucked in his pockets. The other two were very similar in appearance, one with dark hair and the other one with light brown. One had his arms crossed and a scowl on, the other was grinning and practically radiated happiness. Arthur stood behind Francis as the taller smiled wide and that gleam returned to his eyes. Jealousy flared thick through Arthur, and he watched in envy as the other greeted each guest in turn.

"Ah Tony!" He pulled the tallest male into a tight embrace.

"Mi amigo!" And then the blonde moved to the scowling boy, who did not look very happy about his hair being ruffled. "And Lovino!" Said person cussed under his breath, continuing to glare until the taller of the three patted him on the shoulder. This small act went, of course, unnoticed by Francis who was already eyeing the last. "Little Feliciano! You're not so little anymore! Please, everyone, come in," and he stepped back with a sweeping arm. Arthur had since retreated from behind the other, and stepped up to Tony as Francis closed the door behind the three.

"Nice to see you again, Antonio," he said, holding out his hand. Instead of receiving a shake like he had been expecting, the Spaniard pulled him against his chest.

"Ah, Eyebrows! It's been too long!" Arthur blushed, worming both hands between their bodies to pry Antonio off of him.

"Please call me Arthur, Antonio," he replied, trying to hide his embarrassment. The dark-haired male waved a hand dismissively, not caring that he had made the other feel uncomfortable. That was another thing that Arthur didn't like; even people like this, people that Francis was good friends with, seemed to shake him off like it was nothing. That had always irritated him, and so he returned to his partner's side, looking for consolation he wasn't going to ask for and he knew he wasn't going to get.

"Uh-huh. So where are my favorite little Kirkland-Bonnefoy boys?" Tony asked, smiling wider and throwing his arms out. From one of his sides, Lovino's face went a bit pale and he kneaded his bottom lip between his teeth. For a moment Arthur recognized himself in those eyes, desperate for attention. Arthur mentally berated himself. He was not an attention whore like Lovino was. He was just...needy. Gah. That wasn't helpful either. So he took to replying to Tony, despite the fact the he didn't hold high record in Arthur's book.

"In the back, destroying my yard." His voice was flat like soda that had been shaken too much. That's what he felt like, like he'd run himself into the pavement and just didn't care anymore.

"Ooh, sounds like fun! We'll leave you two squirrels to have your fun!" Before either Francis or Arthur knew what was going on, Tony had shoved their coats into their arms and pushed them out the front door. It slammed in their faces, and faintly they could hear the footsteps of the males running into the backyard. Francis was taking it well, slipping on his jacket and buttoning it up. Arthur was fuming again.

"What the bloody hell! What does he think he's doing? It's not like this is a bloody date night or anything!" he exclaimed, pointing at the door with a face red with anger.

"Of course it isn't!" It was said rather suddenly, and Arthur turned to see Francis smiling at him. "Zis is a very serious quest to find you some friends Angleterre." The Englishman blushed darker, turning away from the door and slipping his arms through the sleeves of his coat.

"And don't you think otherwise!" Arthur snapped.

"I would not even dream of it Arthur," the Frenchman said, stepping off the porch and starting down their driveway to the street. Arthur jogged to catch up, falling into step beside the other.

"Where the hell should we walk, anyway?" he asked, trying to ignore the fact his face was red.

"Where ever ze best friends are, of course," the long-haired male replied, as if that was the most natural answer in the world. "Or maybe we should just walk and see where we end up." The look he gave Arthur was a different variation of one he had seen many many times. The seductive tone only remained in the way he tilted his head and the way his eyebrows raised, but other than that, everything had become softer, and instantly Arthur was hit with a reminder of their earlier days when that look greeted him every day. It had been so long since then and for the moment Arthur couldn't remember that look and what it meant.

"A-Alright." His voice stumbled out, tripping over itself before landing in silence as the two made their way down the drive into the winding neighborhood streets. Arthur glanced over at Francis, and noticed his hands were tucked deep into the pockets of his jeans. That made him a little disappointed, and he could feel his shoulders get heavy with the weighing fact there would be no touching, and that was partly his fault. He had said this was for friends after all. But now he didn't seem so sure. That insecurity was coming back, and it seemed to be following him with every quiet step. "So..." the Englishman said, fracturing the silence. "How was work...?" His answer was a groan, and Francis's mood dropped. His partner could feel it too.

"It was 'orrendous. Everyzing was all backed up and I of course got all ze blame for not keeping my people in zeir lines," he complained. Just thinking about it gave him a headache. Arthur wanted to reach over and take his hand and tell him it would be fine, but he had to keep himself in line, and settled with a sympathetic smile.

"That sounds horrible. I hope things are better tomorrow." Francis laughed, and that drew the smaller's eyes over to him.

"Once you cook somezing edible, dear Arthur, zen zings at work might start to get better." The Englishman glared over. The insult was meant to be teasing, but it bruised Arthur's pride. He wouldn't let Francis know that though, because that meant more pestering. Again it was covered with what it always was, a blushing face and an uncaring outer shell. He crossed his arms and put on a pout.

"How do you even relate those two things! You just want to pick on me!" The taller must have noticed that Arthur had taken on the defensive because he smiled lightly.

"I am merely stating ze improbability of zings getting better, Angleterre, nozing more." That was also startling, and it caught Arthur off-guard. He didn't know Francis to be the pessimistic one. His concern was show purely through the eyes.

"So you're saying you think nothing will get better."
"No, no. I am not saying zat," Francis explained. "I'm only saying zere are some zings zat will never change. For example, we will still be picking up after our children and wiping zeir snooty noses even when zey are out of the house and we have grown old togezer. We can always count on zat."

Oh God.

Growing old together.

That phrase was stuck on repeat in Arthur's brain, over and over. Up until that sentence, it had been getting through the day without strangling each other, and the furthest they thought ahead was the weekends. Up until then Arthur hadn't even thought about what he would do when he was older. Up until that moment when Francis swung open a door, Arthur had had a small impending fear inside his chest occasionally that, after the kids had grown up and left, Francis would take off. He didn't even know why he thought that, there was no reason for that idea to be in his head. But he was scared of being left, somewhere inside that terrified him. Right then he wanted to grab Francis, allow himself to be hugged and kissed, to break down and spill everything. Growing old together.

Those words never sounded so wonderful.

He was sitting in an armchair, legs wrapped in a blanket and reading a book. The pages are worn, and in one corner he sees the mark of a crayon. It makes him smile, and his eyes drift to the table where sits a picture of both his sons,vacationing together in the sun. They are grown; Al twenty five and Matthew twenty two. Arthur smiles, sad, but a grin nonetheless. The house seems rather empty and quiet now that they're gone. When they visit though, those are some of the best days. Arthur feels hands touch his shoulders, and he tips his head back to see Francis smiling down at him. His face has hardly changed, the teasing smile still there. Arthur felt himself blush as the Frenchman leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"Dinner is ready Amour." He stays a while longer to kiss Arthur's cheek, then his mouth, long and slow, and they don't have to worry about being walked in on anymore. When the Englishman finally pries Francis from his face and gets up, the two men slip their arms around each other and walk to the table. They still sit in the same seats beside each other like they used to, leaving the two across from them empty. They still grope each other under the table, Arthur still blushes and leaves when he gets uncomfortable, and Francis always waits because he knows the Englishman will come right back to him. Always.

That picture was stained into his brain, at the very front, and it was a considerable pause before another gust of wind blew him back into the present, and he looked over to his right. Francis was looking at him, waiting for a reply. He stumbled over words more than usual, because those eyes were the same ones he pictured. Again he felt the overwhelming urge to burst into tears and ask for kisses and hugs because that was all he wanted. He never did. Instead his mouth tried for words again, only barely grabbing some and throwing them out.

"W-Well you're still implying my cooking won't improve, even though I have been getting better. Anyway, it's not like I was upset about you picking on me in the first place!"

"Well if you do so happen to be ze slightest bit upset, je suis désolé," and Francis slipped his hand out of his pocket, extending it palm up to the other. The Englishman didn't hesitate to take it and lace their fingers together, so tight circulation was cut off for a moment.

"I wasn't upset, but I accept your apology nonetheless, frog." Arthur smiled over at the grinning face next to him.