A/N: It took my forever to figure out how I wanted to get the beginning started, but it's here now! Thank you so much for all of your reviews and excitement about this story! It makes this so much more fun to write!

Hopefully I'll be able to finish the next chapter and post it by Tuesday, so look out for that! Unfortunately, after chapter three, the story cuts off in my head, so the updates might not be as often. But I have an awesome class schedule and large spots off free time for planning and writing. So you won't have to wait that long!

Enjoy!

Arthur had almost survived the day. Almost. Everything was returning to normal – or as close to normal and the Incident (the whole experience was terrifying enough to cause it to be labeled and with a capital no less) – and there had been no sightings of him after the Incident.

He had decided to go to classes, just to get his life into some resemblance of order, and the rough waters of his mind were slowly calming.

And then a very familiar, very accented, and very unwanted voice drifted down the hallway.

"Bonjour, Arthur!" Francis called, dragging the words out into a sing-song tone so sweet it was sickening. The Frenchman all but skipped down the hall, a smile that rubbed Arthur the wrong way spreading across his face. And, as if Francis' nearly blinding enthusiasm wasn't enough, the man had the nerve to begin spitting out everything just dandy about his day.

Just peachy. Exactly what he needed. Oh yes, this was very cheering.

"What is wrong, mon ami?" the blond asked. "That frown will not make those eyebrows of yours any smaller."

Arthur shot a glare at his (so-called) friend. Just the mere presence of the other man was making his resolve and determination shaky. The whispers were back, soft and not yet solid, but persistent. Of course he had to think of asking Francis about his love troubles. Now that he was actually here, the words sat in his stomach like concrete.

"There is something big on your mind, oui?" His animalistic smile made Arthur shudder. "Tell me all about it."

A snarky retort was just sitting on his tongue, ready to be used. Until Arthur noticed that Francis' eyes were blue. Alfred's eyes were blue. But Francis' eyes did not glow with the same pulsing energy as the soccer captain and where the lad's face still held some of its child-like roundness, the Frenchman had sharp, angular features. And Francis was nothing like the beauty of Alfred no matter how many times he called himself a god of love. He was perverse and stubborn, and Alfred was energetic and childish. And all that fuzzy stubble that the frog called a beard-

"Arthur, what is wrong with you?"

"Pardon?"

"You have been staring at me like I am about to grow a second head."

"Hopefully it won't be as ugly as this one," Arthur snorted. Dear Lord, he needed to get himself to a nut house and soon.

Really, now was not the time to think about his love life (well, lack thereof). In fact, there was never a time at all to think of a love life with a man in the first place. There were plenty of attractive women in this school. He should be finding interests with them. He just needed to remind those voices in his head about that. They should be satisfied with a nice homely girl, yes.

"Do you like someone?" Francis suddenly asked.

Arthur's head snapped up, eyes went wide, and his jaw dropped. God save the Queen – he hadn't just ranted that all out loud, did he? His pride was ruined, his self-preservation all but rubbed in the dirt. He was going to go home right this instant and bury himself. He was already digging his way six feet under from the beginning anyway.

The chuckle that escaped the blond's lips made Arthur want to strangle him. "You are adorable, mon ami. Who is? I hear that Lilly's older brother is gone for the month. Is that who? Or is it Michelle?"

Arthur was mortified by the rush of heat spreading up his neck and clawing up his face like some, pride-eating beast. He pursed his lips as Francis' eyes – not as blue as Alfred's (stop thinking about that git, you arse!) – narrowed.

His lips curled up into a feral smile. "Oi…it is not une fille, oui?"

Arthur's mind clawed at any of his stability as the image of Alfred winning his goal filled his vision. "E-English, bloody git." Bullocks, that didn't even sound convincing to himself.

"You are thinking about a boy."

Could one burn down a building through the heat of a blush? Arthur was tempted to try just to get out of the area and hopefully burn Francis down as well. Maybe Alfred. As long as all of this stopped.

"Who is it?" Francis asked, breathless and eyes gleaming.

"No one!" Yelling, yes, yelling might work.

"Oh, it can't be me, can it?"

"Shod off, frog! Like anyone would put up with you! Lord knows how I live with you," Arthur grumbled, feeling a bit more like himself.

"Because you love me," he sang, throwing his arms around Arthur's neck.

Arthur promptly choked and flailed. "Alfred!" It came out like a cry of help. Which it kind of was, seeing as how he was drowning in the sea of Francis' expensive cardigan and choking on his cologne. "His name is Alfred!"

"Alfred?" Francis dropped the Brit and tapped his chin. "The soccer captain? That Alfred?" The pout on Arthur's face was all the confirmation needed. "Oh, Arthur, we have some work to do, Monsieur Amour".