A/N: I'm sorry I can't even omg. I didn't mean to leave that cliffhanger for like a year lol;;;; does anyone even do author notes anymore? oh well here it is, i'm back! I'm going to do my best to finish this story, I have no idea when that'll be but yolo so please enjoy! 8D
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"I'm coming in."
Before Arthur could do anything to stop him, Francis appeared from behind the door.
"Don't come into a man's room before he's got trousers on for God's sake, Francis!" Arthur yelled, his ears burning from embarrassment.
"Oh, you know I don't mind that, Arthur." Francis laughed, leaning against the door and crossing his arms.
"Well, I do!" Arthur huffed, reaching for his pants at the end of the bed. "How did you even get into my house?" He asked angrily, apparently having trouble getting his leg into his pants.
"You told me where you keep the spare key weeks ago, when Elizabeth started watching the boys."
"That doesn't give you the right to march in here whenever you please."
"It does when you've spent the night drunk off your ass and your ex-wife is on her way over with your son."
"My…what?" Arthur asked, panicked once more. He reached for the digital clock on his nightstand, nearly knocking it over. "She's going to be here in less than an hour. Bollocks."
"And you look like hell." Francis remarked, "Take a quick shower. A cold one. I'll have breakfast and black coffee for you in the kitchen."
"Thank you, but I'm fine. I just need a shower." Arthur said, trying to move toward the door and finish putting on his pants at the same time. He lost balance once more and fell on to the bed.
Francis smirked, turning to go downstairs. "You'd better eat something after you get out of the shower, mon cher. It'll help your hangover."
"Whatever you say, sweetheart." Arthur spoke with rather sarcastic affection.
"Of course, darling." Francis said sweetly, mocking Arthur's tone from the other side of the door.
Arthur sighed and gathered his clothing, a dizzying feat completed with another tumble to the floor. "He thinks he's so charming and heroic…" He mumbled to himself in a rather terrible impersonation of Francis' accent. He began wobbling across room to the bathroom. "I'm Francis Bonnefoy, I'm French and I'm beautiful. Look at me cooking this breakfast shit oooh…"
Once he was inside the small bathroom, he looked at his reflection in the mirror. His Jaw dropped in horror as he assessed his messy hair and even messier eyebrows. Thick, dark bags had formed underneath his glazed-over eyes. His skin was pallid and looked even more stretched over his thin face. "My god. He saw me like this. I was practically naked. God take me now."
He broke his gaze with his reflection and started the water, deliberately leaving the hot water off. His mind went blank as he began to undress, the events of the short morning already not making sense. Soon enough, he found himself in the shower without recollection of entering it. He scrubbed at his tangled hair, hardly noticing the frigid water washing over his body.
Downstairs, Francis scoured the kitchen for anything he could use to make a decent breakfast. Deciding to make use of the eggs Arthur would have most likely left to rot in the back of the fridge, he collected them along with milk to make omelets.
He searched the cupboards for a small mixing bowl, finding many things out of place. Upon finding one and making a note to himself to chide Arthur for that later, he cracked several eggs into a bowl. He didn't even try to find a whisk and settled on using a fork to whip the eggs.
Just as he began to stir, there was a loud and rather obnoxious knock on the front door. Francis jumped and nearly flung the yolk-covered fork across the kitchen.
"Alice…" He murmured under his breath, hesitating on what to do. He wondered if Arthur was unconscious and naked on the bathroom floor, filling him with more panic. Arthur's ex-wife knocked once more and Francis let out a deep sigh. He smoothed his hair and made his way to the foyer, formulating his most charming smile. Just as Alice was about to knock once more, he opened the door.
Alice was taken aback for a moment, her large green eyes reflecting disgust. She tightened her grip on Alfred's hand and instinctively pulled him behind her, his small bag falling from his grip.
"Who are you?" She demanded, "Where is Arthur?"
"I'm-"
"Papa Francis!" Alfred screamed and giggled, squirming out of his mother's hold. He raced ahead of her, throwing his arms around Francis.
"I'm Francis, a friend of Arthur's." He said hastily, briefly patting Alfred's head as to not cause more suspicion from Alice.
"Why are you here this early?" Alice said, once again pulling Alfred away from Francis.
"Mum, this is Mattie's dad." Alfred smiled, holding her arms.
"Matthew? Your friend from school?" Alice looked surprised, as if she was horrified to think the man before her was a father, "Then where is he? Your son?"
"Yeah! Where's Mattie? Is he here?!"
"Matthew is at home with his Uncle Gilbert, my friend. He's staying with me for a while and he's watching him." Francis smiled again, "Arthur and I were at the pub with Gilbert last night. He drove Gilbert and I home and I forgot my wallet in the back of the car. Just picking it up," He removed his wallet from his back pocket and held it up, "Arthur is upstairs getting washed up, but he was just starting to cook breakfast."
"I see, I sure hope he wasn't drinking if he was driving…" Alice said, disdain still evident in her voice.
"Of course not, madam," Francis assured her, "He was the designated driver of the evening."
Before Alice could find more about the situation to criticize, Arthur came fumbling down the stairs while trying to button his shirt, "Good morning," Francis recognized the false grin he used to greet customers.
"Dad!" Alfred exclaimed, pushing past his mother and Francis to hug his father. Arthur wrapped his arms around the little boy, a genuine smile coming to his lips.
After a moment of exchanging an awkward glance with Alice, Francis directed himself towards the door, "Well Arthur, I wouldn't want to impose on you any further. Thank you for returning my wallet."
"Your wha…?" Arthur began, "Your wallet, I mean. Yes. Very good. Always a pleasure, Francis."
Francis nodded, waving as he exited, "Quite, yes. Au revoir, Arthur."
"Bye, Papa Francis!" Alfred called, waving back.
Francis gave him a quick smiled, leaving hurriedly. Arthur was taken aback for a moment, noticing how Francis' face fell as he had closed the door.
"When did you get so acquainted with the French?" Alice asked, bring Arthur back to reality.
"He's just a friend, what does it matter to you?" Arthur put Alfred down, "You've never taken an interest in my social circles."
Alice shifted her eyes away, unwilling to start an argument in front of their son, "I should be going, it's a long trip back."
"Mum! Wait!" Alfred tugged at her skirt, "Will you stay and have breakfast with us?"
Alice glanced at Arthur, "You're actually cooking?"
"Erm, apparently," He sighed, "You're welcome to join us, if you want. No one should travel on an empty stomach."
"Sure," Alice seemed to hesitate for a moment before looking back at Alfred, "That would be great."
Arthur sighed and led them into the kitchen, wondering what he was supposed to make with a beaten egg and nearly spoiled milk.
