"Franny! Check it out!"

"Hm?" The charismatic blond looked up from his wine glass, only to have the American's phone shoved in his face.

"You probs missed it, but I totally got pictures of Iggz when he was pissed!"

Iggz? Who was he talking about?

His gaze focused on the screen, causing him to go cross-eyed. There, plastered across the display, was the image of a young man, perhaps within Francis' own age-group, slumped against a bar-stool for support, in what appeared to be an incredibly skimpy waiter's outfit.

Cute…

"You alright, dude? You've been pretty quiet…" The phone was retracted (far too soon for his liking).

"Ah, oui! Bien sûr!"

"The guy's a riot, am I right? He got totally wasted after his fourth glass!"

Francis' mind was in other places. "Alfred, cher, who is he of which you speak? I have not seen him around at all…"

"Hah? Iggz? No way, I didn't tell you about him before? Ah, what the hell, anyway, he's an older relative of mine. A lil' too up his own ass, y'know?"

It was ridiculous at the time. There was no way the same gentleman in that picture matched the description. Did he? "…Him?"

"Yeah, I know it kinda looks like he's slutting out, but he's a total stick-in-the-mud. I've never seen that guy smile when he's not talking to his freaky imaginary friends…"

Figures.

"But hey, don't let it get ya down, man!" Alfred issued a series of forceful slaps to Francis' back, almost making him cough up his wine. "Whoa…" Suddenly, the action ceased.

"Dude, I have a rad idea!"

Now, without a doubt, the man who was elbow-deep in suds was none other than the individual in the photo. He had to be. Who else in the world had such hideously unkempt eyebrows?

From what Francis had time to gather, he had reached a conclusion.

This would be the most fun he'd had in a while.

"That ought to do it."

Arthur Kirkland, finally done with the almighty mess, strained the dishcloth of water and folded his arms in victory. Another hurdle closer to finishing his day and making it back in time for University Challenge. Surprisingly, the day had gone without conflict thus far, the absence of his usual bashing anyone who so much as lingered a gaze upon him seemed to make the others just as wary as he himself.

It wasn't until he reared back to fulfil the latter of his duties, waiting tables, that the real 'party' began, as his shoulder connected with that of another: whoever actually had the nerve to position him/herself so close to him.

Tomato sauce splattered all the way down his previous pristine uniform, the odd strand of spaghetti refusing to slide down with the rest. Hold on a tick, did they even serve spaghetti here?

"Aah! Stupid bastard! Watch where you're going, huh? Shit… Now I have to clean up this whole fucking mess!" If the haywire curl and lack of self-censorship weren't enough to go by, this mysterious 'stranger' was Lovino Vargas, the restaurant's considerably irate mascot of sorts.

"We're sorry, eyebrows! Lovi was just kidding around with you, right? Hug therapy, fratello…" The younger of the two, Feliciano, enraptured his brother in, unsurprisingly, a hug, much to the latter's chagrin.

"Would you stop it already? This guy is a total jerk bastard!" Lovino's flailing only intensified. Arthur still wasn't quite sure what was going on.

"If it weren't for your folly, we wouldn't be here in the first place!" He had evidently settled on responding to the situation with good old-fashioned fury.

"That's a whole bucket load of crap! One of the other shitheads pushed me into your stupid face!"

"What?" If he hadn't done it on his own accord, who had?

As if to answer the questioning of his internal monologue, a pair of slim arms draped around his waist, making sure to avoid the spaghetti stains.

"It was you! The slimy Barbie-girl bastard!"

"My… Don't you have any other insults? I wouldn't want you to bore mon petite lapin, here." A smooth voice practically purred from behind. Its owner rested his chin on Arthur's head.

At this point, he didn't care whether this man was new or not, his decision to despise him was absolute. What gave him the right to so much as approach him, anyway?

"If you're quite done posturing, I do believe your breaks are over by now. Unless, of course, you want to be unemployed."

"Why wait on tables when you can wait on this gorgeousness?"

"Gorgeousness? I don't know what on earth you think you're referring to." Arthur exited the kitchen and into the kitchen itself, thankfully far away from Lovino's assorted threats, but unthankfully, with a certain Frenchman in tow.

It didn't matter how many times he had seen the place during his time working there, Arthur did not think he would ever comprehend the sheer extravagance of it.

Reds and golds mingled throughout the wallpaper and the carpets, an overhead chandelier casting the eatery in a soft though impressionable light. Everything down to the perfect symmetry in which the tables were positioned was flawless.

And still, all Arthur Kirkland could think about was the easiest way to be rid of his pursuer that did not involve being arrested for homicide.

"Ah, excuse me, are you waiting for something, by chance?" He approached the table of an aristocratic couple. The least he could do would be to try and get on with his work.

However, unfortunately for him, a hand begun to wander low. Lower still… And executed an impromptu squeeze to Arthur's backside, earning a well-deserved sock to his jaw.

"Are you trying to get yourself carted off to A&E? Keep your hands to yourself, for Christ's sake!"

"That's hardly fair…" The opposition rubbed his 'wound' tenderly. "You should not show it off if you did not intend for someone to take notice. It cries to be touched, mon ami!"

"And I'm crying for you to make yourself scarce so I may get on with my work!"

"Excuse me, boy…" The husband spoke up. "Would you step aside? I do believe we're looking for a waiter, not someone as…uncouthly dressed as yourself."

Uncouthly dressed? Arthur looked down. How had he managed to forget about the spaghetti stains?

"Ah…understood, sir." Begrudgingly, he stormed back toward the general direction of the kitchen, making sure to whack into the Frenchman's shoulder on his way. At least he had salvaged an excuse to get away from his tail.

"Arthur! Over here!"

What now?

The voice was Elizabeta's, over from her usual position by the miniature bar. Well, perhaps 'bar' wasn't the right word. Some of the beverages there hadn't been exchanged for centuries and had virtually evaporated. "Is something the matter?" He walked on over, surprisingly self-conscious now that he had been called out on his folly.

"Lighten up, silly! I was just going to ask how you knew that man…" Was that…a smile on her face? A rather worrying one, at that.

"The simplest answer for that would be that I didn't. It seems he located my person out of thin air…" That reminded him, something about the entire situation seemed strangely off. He was spoken to as though they actually knew each other, when in fact he hadn't even caught the man's name.

"Well, you certainly look cute together! It really is a shame you're not a couple…" At least now she had dropped the eerie grin, even if it was for all the wrong reasons.

"Me? In a couple with a frog? Surely you jest. Lord knows how many diseases he's harbouring."

"Awh, it's obvious he likes you, Arthur! Try not to be too hard on the poor man." Ah, precious innuendos. Elizabeta's own form of oxygen.

Instead of retorting, however, he simply shook his head. He really ought to exchange uniforms if he planned to avoid a bollocking from Yao. The plan was simple enough, and it definitely should have been so, that is, until he was shot an ever-so-sly wink during the process of locating the spares.

He never would understand the French.

"Hey, man! How'd it go?"

Another ridiculously late call. Arthur slumped a tad in his bed.

"I'd prefer not to elaborate. Don't you have better things to be doing?"

"Aaahh… Nope!"

"Figures…" For the fifth time that week, he was questioning why on earth he had allowed Alfred to push him into getting the blasted laptop, let alone an application to make him easier to contact. What made matters worse was that it was only Tuesday.

"So, spill the beans already! What's the new dude like? You guys friends?"

"As if I would even think to associate myself with a damned frog. What exactly made you believe otherwise? You know as well as I do I can't stand the bloody lot of them."

"Yeah, I kinda forgot about that…" The American scratched the back of his head awkwardly, trying to steer the conversation away from one of Arthur's infamous 'I'm not racist, but here's a list of things I despise about the French' rants. "Anyways, how's Steve?"

"Steve?"

"Y'know, when I was totally awesome 'nd looked after your kitty-cat when you were away?"

"…I'm probably going to regret saying this, but go on."

"Yeah, Bucky's totally been missing 'im!" Of course. An obscure reference regarding Captain America. Why was he not surprised?

"Are you perhaps referring to Alice?"

"Yeah! That! We should totally have a meet up sometime!"

"I'll consider it, possibly. Do go to sleep, Alfred."

"Hah? But dude, it's only—"

The screen went blank.

So many line breaks... Yeah, the story gets a lot choppier around this point, I know. I just thought it'd be good to have a variation of perspectives and broaden the reader's knowledge via flashbacks, like the one at the beginning. ^^