"Lesson One: Posture."

"I don't need any help with my posture," Arthur said with a frown. "I always sit up straight, and I don't have duck feet."

"You see, cher, that is part of the issue- the sitting up straight part, I mean. You always look so uptight. We need to loosen you up a little, get you more relaxed..."

"I thought that was the whole reason why we're even doing this in the first place," Arthur protested.

"Well, you must at least look the part in the meantime." Francis motioned for Arthur to have a seat. They were at Arthur's house this time, in his living room; a neatly kept area where there was a plain wooden coffee table, a large green sofa and many, many bookshelves. (And this wasn't even the library. He had a whole separate chamber for that.) Arthur plopped down on the couch, crossing his legs and sitting up straight, as usual.

"Now try to look relaxed," Francis said. Arthur complied, and Francis stared at him briefly before doubling over with laughter.

"What?" Arthur yelled.

"It is only that... Mon Dieu..." Francis wiped a tear from his eye. "You look as though you drank five pints and then was hit over the head with one of Alfred's baseball bats. In that order." Arthur sputtered indignantly, and Francis reached towards him. "Here, allow moi-"

"Get away from me, frog!" Arthur yelped, rolling out of Francis's path with the reflexes of one who has dodged many, many advances from this particular Frenchman over the years. Francis's fingers grasped empty air, and now had both hands holding on to the top of the sofa, where he had expected Arthur's shoulders to be.

"I was only going to adjust your position on the sofa, cher," he said with a pout, feigning hurt feelings. "You need not be so jumpy."

"Need not be so jumpy, my arse," Arthur replied, not falling for the act. A smirk grew on Francis's face.

"If this is how you wish to play it, Arthur..."

Arthur hopped off the couch as Francis lunged towards him again and stood behind the coffee table, staring down his pursuer. Then- he wasn't sure who was the first man to start running, but it was irrelevent now- he made a break for it, dashing across the room and weaving in between two of the larger bookcases. Francis took off after him, not to be outdone. Arthur was unable to supress a bark of laughter as the two of them began a lively game of cat and mouse throughout the living room. They circled the perimeter of the room twice, with Arthur dodging out of Francis's reach every time the Frenchman extended a hand. Then Arthur quit the living room altogether and scurried into the hallway. He rounded the corner quickly and ran up the stairs three at a time, managing to lose Francis for a few seconds.

Arthur stood at the top of the staircase, snickering, slightly out of breath; until Francis appeared at the bottom. Then, with what was most definitely not a giggle, he turned and started running in a random direction, Francis now hot on his tail. Accidentally- yes, most definitely on accident- Arthur swerved into the bedroom, and found he was at a dead end. He whirled around just in time to see Francis standing in the doorway, looking awfully pleased with himself.

"I have caught up with you, mon lapin!" He stated, advancing forward, slowly at first; then swiftly picking up speed until he was at a fast jog. Arthur, unable to think clearly now, took one too many steps back and collapsed backwards onto the deep blue sheets atop his bed. He squeaked a little in surprise as Francis barrelled into him, knocking him onto his back and pinning him down by the arms.

There was a silence as the two of them began to actually consider the position they were in. In Arthur's bedroom. On the bed. And it was still a mystery to Arthur why he had deigned to participate in this small homage to their younger days. He gave a businesslike cough, shifting beneath Francis's grip.

"I, er... perhaps we should get back to work."

"Bon ideƩ," Francis agreed, releasing the Brit and proceeding back to the living room.

Both feeling equally awkward about what had just occurred between them, the Brit and the Frenchman continued with their lesson on posture. Arthur allowed Francis to poke and prod him into various stances of relaxation, and nothing more was said about it. Then Francis went home, and Arthur was left sitting on his sofa, pondering.

Arthur had not intended to initiate a game of chase. He had simply acted out of habit. Then, when Francis reached for him a second time, he had dodged again, and again, and before either of them knew it they were dashing and staggering about the English living room like a pair of schoolchildren at recess.

Then the whole thing became quite a bit less like innocent playground games when Arthur found himself in a compromising position in his bedroom. That in itself was strange enough. But the really disturbing part, Arthur thought, was that Francis seemed to have felt just as awkward about it at Arthur. When Arthur had come to his senses, he had prepared himself he was about to hear a string of lewd comments and euphemisms from the usually obscene Frenchman above him, but he had been silent; an almost... apologetic look staining his usually shameless features.

It was bizarre.

Arthur scowled. This sort of thing was not his area of expertise, and he had no idea how he ought to read the situation. I shouldn't even be thinking so hard about this, he thought to himself. It means nothing, anyhow. You can't hang around people like Francis and not run into awkward situations. And you certainly can't invite them into your home and expect not to find yourself in the bedroom for no apparent reason. With that final self-reassurance, he got up to make himself a cup of tea.


Two days later, Arthur visited Francis's house to 'work on his attitude and general social skills', as Francis put it.

"Your problem, mon petit lapin, is that you do not give adequate responses to what the other person has to say if it is not something you are interested in," Francis said, sipping his coffee. They were seated in the same room where Arthur had first agreed to undertake this operation.

"Why would I?" Arthur asked as he leaned back against a pale blue armchair, perplexed. "If we're not both interested in something, why discuss it?"

"Oh, Arthur," Francis sighed with a shake of his head. "You are so, so socially inept. No wonder you do not have friends."

"I have friends!" Arthur bristled. "I'm friends with Kiku! And Radu and I go out drinking sometimes! And I'm at the very least on friendly terms with most everyone!"

"Fine, you have possibly two friends, maybe one or two more," Francis relented with a roll of his eyes. "And then there is Alfred, your brother figure. And..." He paused. The conversation had suddenly commanded the men to put a label on their relationship, and it was making both of them highly uncomfortable. "Anyway, we are getting away from the point. If you wish for someone to like you, you must at least pretend to be interested in most of what they say. At first, anyway- over time, you may become more... how shall I say?... Frank about your interests. However, Kiku probably has the same mindset as you about such things- though I imagine he is too polite to ignore someone the way you do at times-and that is why petit Kiku and yourself are such good friends." Arthur looked down, a bit embarrassed. As much as it made him want to break something to admit it, what Francis said had made sense.

"I guess not everyone is practical-minded like I am," Arthur retorted, recovering himself.

"You just keep telling yourself that, cher," Francis said kindly. "Now, we move on to your little problem of language."

"Oh, please," Arthur spat.

"Now, hear me out," said Francis. "A few curses sprinkled here and there is average, and may perhaps even help your case, depending on what type of lady or gentleman you are speaking with. But you cannot start out swearing like the sailor you are."

Arthur rolled his eyes at him. "I don't 'start out swearing.' I'll have you know that I am the epitome of politeness when I'm meeting people." He shook his head. "I only curse around people I know pretty well already. And I curse even more when I'm with you... because you're a bloody git." Arthur suddenly felt that he had revealed something, but couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was. "You can't assume that the responses your idiocy triggers in people show their personality."

"Hmm..." Francis frowned, then shrugged. "I suppose that may be true. Let us continue, then- I need to show you some seduction techniques. Should I begin with women or men?" His face returned to its usual sly grin. Arthur groaned.

"Fine, then, let's get it over with. And... I don't know, women, I suppose."

"You see, Arthur," said Francis, rising from his seat on the couch and adopting a dramatic stance. "A... shall we say... one size fits all, basic strategy is as so: when you are speaking avec une fille-"

"No French."

"...Merde."

"That was bloody French."

"Moving on. When you are speaking with a lady, you must start by making her feel special, as though you have just found a jewel of woman in a crowd of terribly ordinary people. Therefore, you must express great interest in everything about her. Widen your eyes when she speaks as though her words have brought you to an epiphany..."

Arthur fought back the urge to smash his own head through the coffee table. Or Francis's. Whichever would make the pain stop faster.

"...And then when you have been talking for a while, touch her gently in some way. Women adore light touches. Pair that with some flattering information about you- be sure it's something she will like- and she will be throwing herself at you in no time at all. Simple." Francis smiled dreamily for a few a seconds. "I should note that it is nearly the same for men, as well, though there are a few differences which I shall cover at a later date. And of course, this is the technique I prefer to use, meaning it will probably not work for you, so I came up with a play especially suited to your personality. On your feet!"

He suddenly grabbed Arthur by both wrists and pulled him up off of the couch. "I call it, the Bashful Bachelor!"

"God, that's awful," Arthur whined, yanking his arms free. "Please never alliterate again." Francis ignored him.

"Many enjoy those who appear a bit stuffy, as you do- though not too stuffy, you must remember that- but have an obvious soft spot for romance. So the key thing is to blush at opportune moments, stutter a little... But not too much, because that is simply irritating-"

"So, in short, you want me to act like a bloody schoolgirl," Arthur deadpanned.

"Not necessarily. This requires more finesse than that, since you really must get the right balance. But if you want to, I certainly would not mind a bit of-"

"Just keep going."`

"So when you first meet, you ought to be crisp and businesslike, as you usually are. Then, begin your conversation with some cultured smalltalk, and gradually lead the lady to more amorous musings. As I said, blush, pull on your tie, avoid her gaze, shuffle your feet... All the usual things you do anyway. She will find it simply adorable and will usually offer herself to you without any awkward, ah, requests your part."

"I do not- what do you mean, 'all the usual things' I do?" Arthur questioned indignantly, stiffening.

"Arthur, you blush at the drop of a hat. And I am honestly surprised that your ties do not hang to your knees. Trust me, it is adorable to watch."

"Yeah, well. At least I wear ties. Unlike you." Arthur mumbled lamely.

"But no matter how well you know the technique, it will not work if you cannot affect the proper body language. You must let it show with your body that you want her. If you are conveying nervousness, raise your shoulders a little. If you are acting embarrassed, lower your head. When you want to show confidence, separate your legs a little, lift your chin and straighten your back, like so." He assumed a confident pose for Arthur. "Et, whatever you do, never cross your arms. It will make you appear closed to her. You want to look as wide open and available as possible. And point both your feet in her direction- if you point a foot away, it looks as though you wish to leave. Comprends-toi?"

"Well, you just threw about fifty different things I need to remember at me, so I may not have absorbed it all," Arthur said dryly, crossing his arms. "But I think I understand what you're getting at."

"Ah, yes. That is why you are going to practice avec moi."

"WHAT? No, no I am most certainly n-"

"Hello, Arthur," Francis said, cutting off Arthur's protest. "I have not seen you for some time. How have you been?"

"I've been fine," Arthur muttered. An awkward silence ensued. Francis raised an eyebrow at him.

"Well, go on. It's still your turn, cher."

"Er... Nice weather we're having, eh?" Arthur said lamely. In the ensuing pause, a heavy rain could be heard pounding hard against the roof. Francis facepalmed, thinking for a couple of seconds before responding.

"Is this what it's like in England most of the time, then?"

"I suppose," Arthur replied. Francis raised his eyebrow again. "So! Er..." Arthur bent his head a little bit with the air of a child clumsily mimicking the movements of his teacher. "Your words have brought me to an epiphany." As a bit of an afterthought, he gave his tie a tug.

It was Francis's turn to want to smash his head through a table.


After Francis had left, Arthur called Kiku to complain.

"...So then the bloody frog blackmailed me into letting him help me 'release tension', as he put it," he finished angrily.

"Ah, Arthur-kun, do not take this the wrong way, but perhaps it might be wise not to go out drinking with Francis-san," Kiku said tentatively. Arthur sighed, the sound causing Kiku to hear a slight crackling in the phone line.

"I know. You are absolutely right. I just don't trust myself to go alone, for obvious reasons, and I know you don't like bars much."

"But what about Alfred-kun? Or Antonio-san, perhaps? Or... Who was it you mentioned... Radu-san?" Kiku continued.

"I..." There was a long pause. Kiku wondered if Arthur was still on the line.

"I'm not really sure why I go to bars with Francis," Arthur admitted lamely, just as Kiku was about to check his phone to make sure it hadn't died.

"Ah. But I suppose you and Francis-san must be very close," Kiku mused. Arthur made a little noise of surprise.

"How exactly are we 'close'?" He sputtered indignantly.

"Well, you have known each other for so many years," Kiku said thoughtfully. "You must know a lot about each other, because of how often you used to fight. And you grew up together, correct?"

"Well, that doesn't mean we're friends," Arthur huffed.

"It is hard to know so many things about a person and not at least be friends, Arthur-kun. And if you are only enemies, why spend so much time together when you do not have to? If you are not friends, and you are not enemies, then I am not really sure what to call you..."

Arthur found himself speechless for the second time over the course of the conversation.


The next day, Francis started making phone calls of his own. During the conversations he had with the recipients of the calls, he was careful not bring up the fact that he was looking for someone for Arthur to fool around with- at this point, he was just sizing up the sample. Arthur had said he "didn't give a rat's arse" about genders, so at least that meant Francis wouldn't have to sort through only the disproportionately few girls.

He had to find people that Arthur didn't know very well, but at the same time wasn't a complete stranger to. If he tried to hook him up with, say, Yao, Arthur would get weird and say that it would "make things awkward" between them and "affect the friendly relationship too much". And Francis had to admit that screwing around with one's friends was a bad idea (especially if said friends had been the subject of overprotective Russian stalking for years). Still, he didn't know why Arthur always had to be such a scrooge about these things. Francis was only trying to spread l'amour, that was all!

Sighing dramatically, he gave himself a quick spin around in his brand new desk chair and surveyed his very short list of candidates, frowning a little. He was fairly sure that with a bit of convincing, and the appeal of Arthur's 'renovations'; courtesy of Francis, everyone on the list would get along fine with Arthur. But somehow, it didn't feel quite right. Francis just didn't think they were really suited to Arthur- the thought of any one of them with the Englishman made him want flinch a little in discomfort. Strange. He shook his head slightly to clear it, then reached for the phone.

"Arthur? I am bringing you to a party tomorrow night."


A/N:

Nyerrrrghhh I don't know if I did a good job in this chapter ;_; I feel I might have failed at being funny. And I wish I could think of more stuff for Arthur to say while fake-flirting to Francis, but uh... Yeah. I may add on to it later if creativity strikes. Or you can review with suggestions and I shall credit you, that might be fun~

I do love AsaKiku friendship :D they're just so sweet ahhhh

By the way, Radu=Romania. I read something about how he and Arthur belong to the same black magic club, or something.

The chase scene kind of just... wrote itself in. I don't know. It's kinda weird.

...Stuff goes down next chapter ;D

THANKS FOR ALL THE LOVELY REVIEWS~~! :D:D