A/N - The bet later on this chap is basically an idea shamelessly stolen from marinoa's fic, 'The night of the hunter', which you should all read (if you haven't already) because it is AWESOME.
Arthur woke up early, the bright morning light falling straight across his pillow where he'd forgotten to draw the curtains. He groaned and went over to close them, pounding headache worsening with every step.
He crawled back under the covers, but it was no use. Although he was still exhausted, sleep had been ripped away from him and no matter how hard he tried, Arthur couldn't slip back into Dreamland.
Eventually he gave up and headed for the kitchen to get a drink. Francis was already there, humming all-too-cheerfully as he cooked.
'Good morning, mon petit!' He said brightly.
Arthur winced at how loud he was, and scowled as his head thumped painfully.
'Well, more like good afternoon. You've slept nearly the whole day away!'
Arthur's only response was an incoherent grunt of pain.
'Ah, sorry mon cher.' Francis' voice dropped to a loud whisper. 'I've made breakfast - lunch, really. It should be good for your hangover.'
Arthur went over to the table and pulled out his chair, wondering whether it was scraping across the floor deliberately loudly to spite him. In front of him was a full English breakfast and a glass of orange juice.
Francis sat down opposite him and handed him another drink. 'It's a Bloody Mary.'
Arthur groaned. 'Urgh, no. I'm not drinking anything alcoholic ever again. I'll make some tea.'
'I thought you'd say that, mon cher. I've already put the kettle on.'
'Thanks,' he said gratefully, sipping the juice.
With a rush of guilt, Arthur remembered how he'd behaved yesterday. He had to apologise. 'Um, about yesterday...' he said tentatively.
Francis glanced up at him, surprise written across his face. 'What about it?'
'Well, I... The way I behaved, what I said. It was... Abominable. You've been nothing but kind to me, and I...'
Francis held back a laugh. 'Honestly, mon petit, I don't mind at all. You were drunk, I'm not going to hold you responsible. I should be the one apologising for hitting you - there was a mark on your face yesterday.'
Arthur's mind flashed back to what Francis had done just before they went to bed, when he'd reached out and then dropped his hand at the last second. Had he done that because he'd felt guilty?
'For good reason! I deserved it. And even if you say that it doesn't matter, I still want to apologise. You have every right to be mad, but instead you've helped me with everything.' Arthur took a deep breath, and hoped he wouldn't regret what he was going to say too much. 'I've always complained about how ungentlemanly you are, what with your irresponsible flirtatiousness -'
'Hey!'
'- but as it stands, I'm the one who hasn't been behaving like a gentleman. I'm ashamed of myself. So believe me when I say I'm truly very sorry.'
Francis smiled brilliantly, and like yesterday Arthur felt that strange feeling that was half happiness, half something-else, and his heartbeat raced like the wings of a bird in flight.
'Merci, mon amour.'
Arthur concentrated fixedly on his orange juice, and for a while silence hung over them.
'Alors. You will be having some free time for a while, oui?'
Arthur nodded warily.
'Then it's perfect! Since I'm stuck in London indefinitely, you can show me around. Sightseeing is always better when you're with someone who knows the city, n'est pas?'
It was actually a surprisingly good idea. Recently Arthur hadn't had enough free time to go anywhere very far from his flat, and he'd missed just getting on a bus or train and going wherever. And it was much better than just staying inside moping.
'Yeah, why not?'
Francis grinned. 'D'accord. Once you've finished eating, let's go.'
Arthur nearly choked on his baked beans. 'So soon?'
'Well, mon cher, there's a lot to be seen. Presumably - maybe that's just what Paris is like. After all, London is quite a lot inferior...' Francis smirked, his eyes daring Arthur to prove otherwise.
'You wish. I promise that by the end of the month, I'll make you admit that London is better.'
Francis smirked. 'A whole month? Mon cher, I'll give you until the end of next week. And if not, you have to move to Paris.'
'Deal.' Arthur glared, and stuck out his hand. 'And if I do, you have to move to London.'
'Absolutely,' Francis purred.
So they shook on it, Francis' hand soft and warm in his own.
It wasn't until later that Arthur understood Francis' triumphant smirk. He'd either be stuck with Francis forever, still in the exact same situation as before, or he'd be forced to leave his home and live in bloody France.
No wonder Francis had looked so satisfied; for Arthur, it was a lose-lose situation.
Despite Francis' grand plans for taking in the whole of London in one day, they ended up not going much further than a short walk. They arrived at the tube to find that the Circle line was down and there were delays on the District line. As a result, all of the buses were overcrowded, and while he felt a lot better for having eaten Francis' hangover-curing breakfast, Arthur was still slightly off-colour and definitely not ready to face so much noise.
Francis quickly noticed this, and pointed out that since Arthur was still feeling bad, it probably wasn't the best idea to wander the bustling London streets. He asked to go somewhere quiet instead. In the end, they just went to a cafe and chatted over numerous cups of tea (or in Francis' case, coffee).
They talked for hours, and as they talked, Arthur quickly realised that it was strange how close you could be to someone without really knowing them at all. He'd known Francis for over a year now, and they'd been living together for the past few days.
But before now, Arthur had never really thought about the Frenchman as anything other than a slightly annoying, slightly perverted friend. He'd never considered his family, his life in Paris, his likes and dislikes...
With an unpleasant lurch, he realised that their only contact was through work. Once Francis sorted out his banishment, he'd return home. And now that Arthur didn't have a job...
'Francis, when do you think you'll be able to return to France?'
Francis looked offended. 'You're that desperate to be rid of me, mon petit?'
'No, it's not that... I mean...' He trailed off.
Francis raised an elegant eyebrow.
'Well... We only saw each other before because you came here on business, right? And now that I'm out of a job...'
'Are you saying you would miss me?' Francis smirked and leant forwards, close enough that Arthur could smell the bitter sweet mix of lilies and coffee.
Arthur took a hasty sip of his tea to hide the blush and nearly choked on the scalding liquid. 'I doubt it, but just in case. Actually, probably not. But I wouldn't want to risk it, even though it's only a tiny chance.'
Francis' grin widened. 'Too defensive, mon cher. You give yourself away. But don't worry - when I used to come to London, it wasn't usually for business.'
'Then why did you come?'
'Guess,' Francis purred.
Arthur's heart skipped, but he knew this was almost certainly just Francis' innate French flirtatiousness. 'Of course, I can understand why you'd get bored in Paris. London really is a whole lot better.'
'You know that isn't it, mon amour.'
Arthur stood abruptly. 'It's getting late. We really should be going.'
By the time they left the sun had dipped low on the horizon, tangling in the branches of trees.
Arthur yawned.
'Tired?'
'Yeah. It's been a good day.'
Francis slung his arm around Arthur and winked. 'I know how we can make it even better, mon cher.'
Arthur's face flamed, and the Frenchman laughed. 'Bloody frog...' He muttered.
Ever the egoist, Francis ignored this blatant rejection and quickly kissed Arthur on the cheek. Of course, Arthur shoved him away automatically, but moments later he realised something with a dawning sense of horror.
What he'd felt when Francis kissed him hadn't been disgust, exasperation, or anything that was at all similar.
It had been something completely different; something warm, something expectant.
It had been longing.
