Arthur has already disappeared out of the house by the time Francis' wakes up. Today is a Tuesday and Arthur always gets up at six on a Tuesday so he's at work in time for his seven o'clock radio show. This afternoon he'll be on at five, and at that time for the rest of the week until Sunday, which he has off. Francis' knows Arthur's work routine better than he does. He never listens to the show (unless one of Arthur's friends warns him to, which is how the world avoided complete destruction when Arthur proposed to him on air). This is because Arthur always plays awful music, and Francis has told him more than once that if he ever plays anything by Oxmo Puccino (a spur of the moment suggestion) he might be tempted to listen. Arthur flat out refused.

One afternoon Francis' puts in one of his favourite French opera CD's into his CD player. Arthur is sprawled out along the sofa reading a book and does not react. Grinning, Francis mentally celebrates the fact that after he's pressed play Arthur's not allowed to change the music till it's finished, one of their self-imposed and probably going to end up short-lived rules to attempt at a more peaceful home life. The button in question is pressed. Nothing unspeakable awful happens- Francis was expecting an awful booby-trap as revenge for his lengthy explanation as to how mind-numbingly evil and deafening Arthur's stupid heavy metal was yesterday. There is a few seconds of pause as the machine reads the disk.

Then the speakers start screaming out an eardrum exploding mess of guitar chords and screechy singers, and Francis reels back in abject horror. He moves through his shock, about to open the CD player or maybe smash it to pieces if it's a quicker way of stopping the din, when Arthur's amused voice reaches his ears.

"Rules, Frog. You can't change the CD now."

Francis spins round. Arthur's propped himself up on his elbows, smirking as he looks over.

"Rosbif. You have until I reach you to tell me what you've done to my CD," Francis says threateningly, marching across the room (around a pile of bulky black records) towards the Englishman. Arthur hastily gets up from the sofa.

"Well. I put it into the computer, which was the first hard part. Then I burned one of my heavy metal CD's over your crap French music. It was easy from there."

It takes a record three minutes to lock Arthur out the house. After ten minutes of whining outside the door and complaining that it's cold, he walks off down the street without much prompting. Francis, who's been sitting against the door forlornly glaring at his vandalised CD, pauses in his self-righteous musings. He gets up and gives the door a considering look before walking back to the living room, ignoring a slight sense of guilt and gnawing worry.

After three hours have gone by, Francis is deliberating which would be more aggravating; finding Arthur and dragging him home, or leaving it till tomorrow and finding out Arthur was mugged and tossed in a ditch. He's saved from having to make a decision when a slight thud alerts him to something being pushed through the letter box. He goes into the hallway and spots a blue package sitting on the floor.

"Let me in, you damn wanker," Arthur is ordering through the door, and Francis dutifully ignores him- and the sense of relief that comes with hearing his voice- as he unwraps the object. It's a brand new copy of the CD Arthur murdered, and this one is a two disk set. Francis gives it a moment's thought, then opens the door.

"'Bout bloody time," Arthur grumbles, shoving past the Frenchman as he hops up and down to try and get feeling back into his feet. "It's freezing outside." He gives Francis a worried and questioning look, just briefly, checking that everything is fine and he has been forgiven.

It's okay, he has.


One warm summer evening Francis comes home to find that Arthur has beaten him to it. The house is warm and welcoming, and he can't smell burnt food so the Englishman hasn't attempted to cook. He can however smell coffee, and he smiles slightly at the gesture. Francis drops his bag in the hall way and kicks off his shoes, digging into his coat pocket to pull out his phone and consult it for text messages or missed calls. He walks towards the kitchen with his face downwards, but very thankfully looks up before he enters.

Arthur has his back to the door, so doesn't see Francis immediately. The CD player is on, and a group of female voices are blaring out of it, quite possibly the Spice Girls but Francis makes a point not to know. Arthur is spinning round the room, lip syncing with the high pitched women's voice, eyes closed. Face slowly splitting into a grin Francis flicks through the options on his phone till he's using the phones video recorder.

"I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want-"

Still happily oblivious, Arthur lifted a whisk out of one of the holders and sung into it like it was a mike. The song continued for another three minutes, and Francis is in silent stitches by the end of it. He backs out of the kitchen and promptly sends the recording to a mutual friend and impressive gossiper. Gilbert was going to love this.

He opens the door again and re-enters the kitchen. Arthur is sitting on the counter top now, drinking his tea.

"Hey Frog," Arthur says with a slight smile, his usual welcome. "You have that disgusting beverage you call coffee over there if you want some."

Francis does not reply, quietly making his way over to the cup and picking it up. He turns back to face Arthur and looks sorrowfully into the dark liquid. Such a shame it was going to be spilt in about three seconds. It'd be worth it though.

"So, rosbif, do you think you're Sporty, Baby, Scary, Posh or Ginger?"

Very much worth it.