A/N: So sorry for how long it's taken me to finish this chapter. Things have been hectic lately, but I'll try to find time to write the chapters and get them up sooner. Oh, and my apologizes for OOC Canada (spoiler alert?). I'll try and reign him back in later. Maybe. ;)

Arthur and Francis were at each other's throats in less than twenty minutes. They bickered about who got the bedroom closest to the only bathroom (Francis and Matthew won). They bickered about how much counter space each person got in said bathroom (Arthur doesn't have counter space because "he's a sore loser," Francis says). They even argued about who would be cooking the meals.

"You burn everything you cook, and it tastes like dirty feet! There's no way you're cooking," Francis snapped, his nose in the air.

Arthur sputtered angrily, his face red. "My cooking is not that bad," he defended, his angry expression fading into a pout.

Francis chuckled. "Oh, Arthur, if only you knew." He plopped onto the couch beside Matthew, flinging his arm over the other's shoulders. "What do you think of Arthur's cooking, mon cher? Doesn't it just kill your tastebuds?" Francis shot a smirk towards the Englishman, then turned his amused gaze on Matthew.

The Canadian's cheeks burned red. "Well, I've n-never had Arthur's food b-before - " he began.

"Consider yourself lucky," Francis interrupted with a grimace. He sent another teasing smirk Arthur's way.

Matthew shot Francis a half-hearted glare and continued. "But I'm sure his cooking is just fine." Matthew glanced at Arthur, offering him a shy smile. The Brit returned it.

Francis looked at Matthew in mock horror. "Mon cher! That kind of thinking is going to get you killed!"

Matthew almost chuckled at the comment, but then Arthur snapped, "My cooking has never killed anyone, you stupid frog! Stop blowing things out of proportion. You're just being dramatic."

"Proportions aren't the only things I blow, honhonhonhon," Francis murmured to Matthew, who blushed and shifted uncomfortably. Arthur heard the comment and flushed a deep shade of red, but whether it was from anger or embarrassment, Matthew didn't know.

Before Arthur could comment about how inappropriate and foul Francis was, Matthew leaned forward on the couch, his elbows on his knees. "I, personally, don't care who cooks." He glanced towards the bedroom that Alfred and Arthur would be sharing, lowering his voice. "Just as long as it isn't Alfred. Can you two at least agree on that?"

Arthur and Francis exchanged glances, shuddering, their minds filled with images of triple cheeseburgers and greasy fries. Then they snickered.

"Good." Matthew smiled triumphantly, proud of himself for stopping a fight before it had even started. He pulled a quarter from his pocket. "Now, how about we flip a coin for who gets dinner responsibilities tonight?" He held up the shining coin, glancing between Francis and Arthur.

"That's childish, Matthew," Francis chuckled warmly.

"It's the only way this will be settled, because we are not playing strip poker again." Matthew looked at Francis pointedly, then tossed the coin into the air. "Call it."

"Heads!" Francis shouted, leaning forward enthusiastically as he watched the quarter somersault in the air.

Arthur glared at the coin as it landed in the center of Matthew's outstretched palm. Heads.

Then he flipped the coin onto the back of his other hand.

Tails.

Francis leaped off the couch, pointing an accusing finger at Matthew. "You cheated! I saw it; it was heads, and then you flipped it so that British fool would win. You cheated! Matthew, mon cher, I don't know whether to be angry with you or proud of you..." His voice trailed off at his confession, confusion lacing its way into his expression.

"Dude, that's how the game's played," called Alfred as he exited his and Arthur's room. He was carrying a stack of board games in his arms as he joined the others by the couch, flinging his left arm over Arthur's shoulders as he balanced the board games in his right. "Why are we flipping coins?"

Arthur shrugged Alfred's arm off and turned to the younger blonde. "To see who cooks dinner tonight. And I won." He beamed at the American, clasping his hands proudly behind his back.

Alfred's face drained of color. "Oh god," he murmured, horrified. Arthur's face fell, and Francis cackled.

"And Francis does the dishes because he lost," Matthew interrupted, standing up from the couch and brushing off his jeans. The cackling stopped, and all three turned to stare at Matthew in disbelief.

"Mon cher - " Francis began.

Alfred shifted the board games into his left arm and slung his right on over Francis's shoulders. "You lost fair and square, dude. You're on dishes duty," he teased.

Defeated, Francis hung his head and mumbled weakly in French. He didn't even have the heart to knock Alfred's arm off his shoulders, or the board games out of his arm as he herded the Frenchman and the Canadian to the large coffee table.

"So now, while Arthur goes and burns down the kitchen while trying to make something edible, we're going to play board games," Alfred exclaimed, shooting a teasing smile over his shoulder at Arthur, who stood by the doorway of the kitchen with an angry pout on his face.

"What, no video games?" Matthew asked in surprise as Alfred pushed him into a sitting position by the coffee table.

Alfred pouted as he sat beside Matthew, crossing his legs underneath the table. "Arthur yelled at me for trying to pack my Xbox..."

Rolling his eyes at Alfred's pitiful expression, Arthur turned and entered the kitchen, searching the cabinets for something easy he could make.

Arthur fidgeted with the strings of his "Kiss the Cook" apron as he stood in front of the stove, glaring at the timer. It was taking too long. Alfred had already shouted from the other room three times that he was withering away to nothing. He'd heard Francis snickering about how they'd wither away to nothing if they ate his cooking anyway, and then the two would laugh as if they were actually friends and were getting along.

Arthur hated how they bonded over their distaste for his cooking. At least he never heard Matthew joining in on any of It...

The soft-spoken Canadian edged his way into the kitchen, his hands occupied by two empty wine glasses and a half-empty Coca-Cola cup. He smiled sheepishly at Arthur and held up the glasses with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

Arthur sighed. "Matthew, that's the sixth time they've sent you in here to refill their drinks. I think they've had enough." He grabbed the half-empty wine glass from it's place on the counter anyway and filled the two glasses Matthew had set on the table.

"I'm supposed to be a spy," Matthew explained, rubbing the back of his head, "to see if your food is really going to kill us or not."

Arthur huffed and pouted, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. "They have no faith in me, do they?"

"Nope," Matthew laughed, shaking his head. He reached over to the oven and turned it off.

"You're not very good at being a spy, are you?" Arthur observed as he watched Matthew pulling the casserole out of the oven.

The casserole was set in the center of the table. Matthew grabbed the now-full glasses, balancing them precariously in his hands, and smiled at Arthur. "No, not really, but I am good at saving our tastebuds from extinction." Matthew laughed at Arthur's crestfallen expression.

"Not you too," Arthur whined, throwing his oven mitts weakly onto the counter.

Laughing, Matthew exited the kitchen to gather Francis and Alfred for dinner.

Arthur ate his dinner silently, straining his ears for any noises of displeasure from either Alfred or Francis. He heard none, and he took that as a good sign. Whether the casserole was awful or not - which he didn't think it was, thanks to Matthew for saving it from burning - it wasn't nearly as bad as his cooking usually was (yes, he knew his cooking was awful, he just hated to admit it).

No one talked during the first half of dinner, and Arthur didn't know if he enjoyed the silence or if he wished someone would open their mouths and speak, even if it was to insult his cooking.

"You guys are awfully quiet over there," Matthew observed from where he sat beside Arthur. The Brit sighed with relief, glad that it was Matthew who was the first to speak.

Francis grunted, shrugging his shoulders. Alfred hummed around a mouthful of casserole, eyes flickering between Arthur and Matthew. There were a few more moments of silence while everyone chewed, and then Alfred spoke.

"Thanks, Matt."

Matthew's forked clattered to his plate as he glanced up nervously at Alfred. Francis looked at him in confusion, his gaze flickering from Alfred, to Matthew, to Arthur and back again. His eyes narrowed.

"Mon cher," he began. "Did you help with dinner when you were supposed to spying for us?"

Matthew stayed silent, shaking slightly as he felt the gazes of Alfred and Francis pressing into him. His jaw worked anxiously, but no words came out.

Arthur, much to Matthew's relief, jumps in to save him. "So what? He saved dinner, didn't he, since you all believe I'm an awful cook. And besides, Francis, you've done worse than taking something out of the oven."

Francis flipped his hair over his shoulder. "I don't know what you're talking about. I have done nothing terrible. And what Matthew did wasn't bad - I'm not reprimanding him. He actually made sure dinner was edible, so, mon cher, I thank you."

Arthur ground his teeth at the comment, but bit back his attitude. "You tried to force me to marry you," he said instead, bringing to attention Francis's past as a way to distract from Matthew's "deception."

"I had my reasons," Francis defended, leaning back in his chair.

"You were broke."

"That is a very good reason." Arthur and Francis stared at each other for a few silent moments, fighting back their smiles and laughter. Their laughter broke free, however, when America asked, a little more than just slightly confused, "Why would you want to marry England, though?"

Francis shrugged when he finally got his laughter under control. "He was richer than me," was his excuse. Arthur beamed, expression triumphant.

"But he still can't cook," Francis teased. He pushed his chair back and stood, gathering the others' empty plates.

England glared at him and contemplated biting Francis's arm as he reached in front of him.

"Now, I am going to fulfill my end of the rigged - " Francis shot Matthew a playful glare " - coin toss and wash the dishes, before Arthur's small brain can come up with even a half-intelligent insult." Tossing a wink at Arthur over his shoulder, Francis turned away and busied himself with the dishes.

A/N: It's prom night guys, I'm so excited~ x3