One dash of milk and three sugars with a touch of cinnamon

One dash of milk and three sugars with a touch of cinnamon. Antonio knew this formula by heart. He had watched Arthur make his tea so many times. At every world conference meeting, he would watch Arthur make himself his tea and some for other countries (mostly Japan, Hong Kong and sometimes China or India). He always noticed which was his from the unusual amount of sugar. It surprised him but after further investiga … erm, coincidental observations, Antonio had noticed that Arthur liked sweet things. You wouldn't guess from his constant bitter tone. He also liked spices a lot. Hence the cinnamon. One dash of milk and three sugars with a touch of cinnamon.

Antonio was humming to himself his little formula when he heard some shuffling sounds growing nearer to the kitchen. He looked up and saw Arthur, wrapped up in his cosy blanket. He really looked adorable like that … well, apart that he was sick and all.

Arthur eyed the Spaniard in his kitchen suspiciously, especially since he was holding his kettle. Antonio brought Arthur to the living room and sat him down comfortably in his settee despite all the arguing from his host which Antonio ignored. He then brought him a new mug of warm tea. Arthur had also noticed that the broken mug on the kitchen floor was gone. Had Antonio cleaned it?

"Drink up. It'll get cold." Antonio urged him with an unusual eager look in his olive green eyes. Arthur hesitated. Maybe he was poisoning him? Then he shrugged. He was already sick as hell that there was no need for poisoning anymore. He took a shy sip expecting the worst but was gladly surprised. This tea was … exactly the way he made it himself! Neither Japan or Hong Kong and not even his brothers knew him that well as to put the touch of cinnamon. And it had just enough sweetness to it the way England liked it. Arthur shot a surprised look at his guest who was watching him expectantly.

"How … is it?" Antonio dared asking.

"It's … nice. Surprisingly nice."

Antonio sighed in relief and he kept gazing at Arthur who was savouring the soft warmth of his drink. Arthur was really intrigued.

"Did you … put some cinnamon in the tea?"

"Si. You don't like it?"

"I do. I was just surprised. I didn't think you'd come up with such an idea … actually, I didn't think you knew how to make tea."

"I learned it from India … (he couldn't say that he had begged India to teach him) when I … came to visit on holiday. I … wanted to taste his spices (he wanted to beg India) and I ended up learning how to make tea (original objective). I was surprised. I thought tea was bitter and disgusting but … it can actually be quite nice. And India showed me all those different teas and spices and … Arthur?"

Arthur was staring at his friend with utter astonishment and a small smile had crept up his face. Under Antonio's confused expression, Arthur burst in a small, weak laugh punctuated with coughs.

"You went to see India and came back with knowledge on how to make tea? That is … the most unexpected thing I've heard!"

"It's not funny! You like tea too!"

"I know but … I never thought you'd like it too! And you were so into it, explaining me all the different teas and spices!"

Antonio felt a bit frustrated and humiliated but he relaxed a bit. He was glad to see that Arthur could still laugh and smile. After a while, Arthur fell asleep in his seat and Antonio stayed by his side, admiring his blond host. He soon fell asleep too (his sleepless night flight was catching up on him) nuzzled next to Arthur.

Later that day, the phone rang waking up Arthur and making him grumble and curse. Antonio inwardly cursed too as he went to grab the phone.

"Angleterre? C'est moi! I was wondering how you were feeling today. I heard from Scott that you asked him to represent you in Parliament with Wales."

"Francis …"

"Qu … Antonio? Qu'est – ce que … What are you doing at Arthur's house?"

"I'm visiting."

"… Since when? You left late last night just after I told you about Angleterre and now you're at his house? Did you take the first flight there over night?"

"What if I did?"

"Mais pourquoi?" {but why?}

"Why not?"

He heard France muffle a laugh before answering.

"Antonio? Is there something you were hiding from me?"

"Like what?"

"Like … Oh, I don't know … Maybe that you love my little master?"

Antonio's face became deep crimson.

"W-what? Why would you think …?"

"Oh come on! Give me a better explanation for you to suddenly panic and rush to see him when I told you he was ill!"

"I …"

"How is he?"

Antonio realised the change of tone. The usual Francis would have teased him until he got him to admit but … the usual Francis was now gone and replaced by a worried Francis. He sounded honestly concerned about his 'little master' and his voice was dead serious.

"Horrible. He won't admit it but he can barely stand or talk. He's always falling asleep and seems to shiver of cold all the time despite his burning fever. Francis … what can I do? He's really sick and I don't know what to do!"

"Calm down. Is he covered well?"

"Yes … I think."

"Make sure he's warm enough. And put him a wet patch on his forehead to cool down the fever. Don't let him leave the bed and he must sleep as much as possible. Give him his medicine as prescribed by the doctor, he told me he had them. If he's hungry, give him warm food and only things that are easy to digest like a purée or a soup. He needs to drink a lot since he's probably dehydrated too. Check his temperature regularly and make sure he gets enough rest."

"O-ok. I'll try."

"Don't worry Tonio, I'm sure you'll manage! And try not to kiss him because you might get sick too!"

"Francis! I'm not …"
"Sure, you're not! That's why you're panicking about seeing Arthur sick!"

"I …"

"Ah, I need to go! Corse has fallen asleep in the middle of the road again! Tell Arthur I called, and take care of him, s'il te plait! Merci, bye! Corse! Qu'est – ce que tu fous, bordel?!" {… Please! Thanks, bye! Corsica! What the fuck are you doing, idiot?!}

Antonio heard Francis hang up and then was taken aback at seeing Arthur standing behind him with a curious expression.

"Who was it?"

"Francis. He said you weren't allowed out of bed."

"I'm fine. What else did he say?"

But Antonio didn't answer and like before lifted Arthur and carried him to his bed. The entire day, Arthur tried getting out of his bed and work but each time Antonio would just carry him back to his room, ignoring his protests. Eventually, Arthur gave up and let Antonio take care of him. It was nice to have someone to spoil you from time to time. But Arthur was still wandering why Antonio was doing all this and why he always had such a serious face on. Where was that cheerful, idiotic grin he always has? Arthur was too sick to bother with details right now and just enjoyed the attention. He slept all day while Antonio cleaned his house and went shopping for food. The day passed like a snap and when Arthur woke up, it was already dark outside. He was about to get out of bed to make himself dinner but Antonio arrived with a tray of food in his hands.

"Bed!" Antonio ordered.

"But …"
"Bed!"

Arthur sighed. Normally he would have yelled back at the Spaniard for ordering him around but he just didn't feel like it today. His head was spinning and he honestly appreciated the help of his guest.

"I brought you some soup! Francis said you could eat a little bit but not too much."

"Thanks."
Arthur tasted the soup and again was surprised. That was his brother's recipe! Scotland had once brought him a book of soup recipes but had added his own personal one on the last page (which is also England's favourite). Where did Antonio …?

"Did you use my recipe book?"
"Si! I found it in the cupboard. In Spain we mostly have cold soups (not entirely true but Antonio needed an excuse to try out England's recipe) so I didn't know what to make and Francis said it had to be warm so I thought you might have something because it's a cold place here and …"

Arthur distractedly listened to Antonio's ramble. He thought Antonio hated his cooking so why would he bother trying his recipes. Why not call France?

"Is it good?"

Arthur snapped back from his thoughts and looked at Antonio. Again, there was that eager look in his eyes like he was expecting something.

"Not bad."

"Good! I was worried because it was the first time I did this."

"What do you make when you're sick then?"

"I … I don't know. I don't remember ever being sick …"

"Well, that's fortunate."

Arthur had already finished his bowl and was slowly dozing off.

"You have strange recipes" Antonio continued without noticing Arthur's drowsiness.

"What do you mean?"
"Well, everything you make is … rich and fat. No salad or …"

"We're in a cold country Antonio. Salad doesn't grow here! Well, it didn't in the past … now, it's possible with a greenhouse and stuff. But it's mostly the climate that forces us to eat rich food to keep our bodies warm."

"Si, I understand but it's still strange and unusual for me. Your soups are nice though."

"That recipe came from my brother."

"Really? I chose it because there was a bookmark on it so I thought you liked it."

"I do, it's my favourite."

"Good."
Antonio's faced seemed to relax but he still didn't smile. He kept staring at Arthur and decided he needed rest. Antonio was about to leave before asking:

"Arthur, do you want me to make you more tea later?"

"Yes please."

"The usual, right?"

Before Arthur could answer, Antonio had left his room with the empty tray.

"The usual? What did he mean by that?" Arthur wondered. He shrugged, dismissing it but it still intrigued him how Spain seemed to know his taste so well. He decided that he'd figure it out later and fell asleep.