Notes: I'm really sorry about this chapter being late, I did try to warn you all beforehand, but the fact that this one is even later is due to circumstances I'll explain further at the end of this chapter. :) You guys have been waiting long enough, so enjoy!


Arthur wasn't sure what he had expected to happen this morning. What he certainly hadn't looked forward to was waking up to the thrill of the doorbell echoing through the house. He jerked with a start, instantly awake and alert, frozen as a wave of fear washed over him. Breathing softly, he waited for someone to pound on his door with rage rivaling that of the devil, roar at him for being so absolutely pathetic and lazy, unable to do something so simple as to open the damn door. When no such invasion came, Arthur looked up and remembered that he wasn't 14 anymore, wasn't in any danger of being flogged for not being responsible enough. He was in his 40's now; his father had been dead for almost 15 years. Arthur sat up and waited for his heart to calm down, panting and wondering who had the audacity to ring the bell so early in the morning. He turned and took a look at the digital clock beside his bed. It was 1 in the afternoon.

Oh.

Even though his brain was foggy and swimming in drunk gunk, Arthur tried his best to gather his thoughts despite the wicked hangover. Thank god he was already dressed. Arthur hadn't even bothered stripping down when he went to bed last night, in fact he couldn't even recall actually actively going to bed and more than likely probably simply stumbled into his room and managed to pass out on his mattress. Neither Alfred nor Matthew had wandered in to rouse him awake and say goodbye before going to school. They knew the drill. Arthur held his stomach and sighed, leaning back into the pillows and closing his eyes once more, just trying to grasp at that last few nuggets of relaxation that were just beyond reach.

Ding Dong.

Sighing in resignation, Arthur got up and took a quick look in the mirror. He looked like a haggard mess, but there was no time to shower before opening the door. The last thing he needed to get into trouble because Francis went back to tell Antonio that Arthur wouldn't hold up his end of the deal. He stared at himself in the mirror. Take in a homeless man, quit drinking and find a house for someone so Antonio wouldn't leave him behind when it came to this upcoming court case. It was impossible, especially when the only thing that Arthur knew he could confidently do was find a good house on Canal Street, where Antonio and Lovino lived.

When Arthur saw Francis through the window, he was caught completely off guard. He had seen this man twice before, so nothing about his appearance had changed, but this was the third time Arthur's perception of Francis was altered. The first time, he had assumed that the man was a nosy little prostitute looking to score some cash. The second, a charming if not chattery caregiver of his children. And now, with Arthur having learned that Francis was actually a homeless man -for god knows how long- he tried his best to see some lazy drug addicted bum, but to his surprise could perceive nothing but a normal looking person. Francis didnt have a shopping cart filled with cans and bottles to recycle. No huge garbage bags filled with the only possessions he had left in a sad miserable life. No layers upon layers of dirty ripped coats and fingerless gloves with black fingernails. No desolate look on his face, but an earnest hopeful one in the autumn chill. The only thing that Francis carried was a messenger bag about as big as a Halloween pumpkin. It made Arthur wonder if maybe Antonio was playing a trick on him with this 'poor homeless Francis' routine.

Arthur found his judging session suddenly interrupted when he noticed that Francis had turned his head and caught him staring through the window, but not opening the door for him. A knowing smirk crossed his lips that made Arthur flush in embarrassment and pull away. He took a deep breath, adjusting his shirt once more. It struck him as rather odd that he wanted to make a good impression on someone who probably couldn't even afford Arthur's cheapest pajamas, not to mention someone he had cursed out more than once before. Still, if this man was going to be living under his roof for a while, it would probably be best if they started anew on good terms.

Plastering on a smile as fake as the leather on the couch, Arthur opened the door and grinned at Francis. Francis was evidently either a flamboyantly happy person at heart or simply wanted to mock Arthur, because he was smiling back just as foolishly.

"Arthur!" he purred, sauntering forward and pulling Arthur into a hug, a sudden intimate expressions that actually startled him. "OOoh you and Antonio…you two." He muttered, pulling back and patting Arthur's shoulders. "I know we got off on the wrong foot but you have absolutely no idea how much this means to me. Thank you." Arthur was wary of Francis' enthusiasm. He coughed lightly, his smile having lost much of its luster.

"Oh…yes yes it's fine." He said, trying to hide his real feelings. He just couldn't get an accurate read on just what Francis was all about. He almost seemed two faced with how quickly he was able to shift from happy and friendly to a snarling demon, yet despite Arthur's experience with horrible people like that, Francis' anger at Arthur seemed justified rather than randomly cruel.

Francis' blue eyes sparkled in delight. "So, we can put everything behind us, no?" he gushed, adjusting the strap of his bag and letting it slide off his shoulder. "I help you to stop acting like an imbecile and everyone stops treating you like one. Where can I put my things?"

Too stunned by the chirped insult to respond to it, Arthur shakily pointed down the hall. "U-Uh…you can just drop them off in the master bedroom I suppose." He said. Francis nodded brightly and practically skipped off in the direction where Arthur had pointed. It was now that Arthur started to think harder about where Francis would end up sleeping. Although his room had a queen sized bed that had been cold and lonely for years, he wasn't certain he'd be too comfortable allowing it to be warmed by the company of a stranger. On top of that, Matthew and Alfred already slept in the same bedroom, so it wasn't as though he could squish them together to make room.

On the topic of his sons, Arthur thought about what their reaction would be to these new living arrangements. Judging by the way they acted the day before, it seemed likely that that would be more than happy to accept him as their own, especially if it meant that he would be cooking more often. Arthur furrowed his brow and walked into the kitchen. Of course…that didn't mean that he himself was a bad cook. Maybe sometimes he didn't pay much attention anymore, or ordered out a lot but he did try his best. Even if it meant trying to wring out the few droplets of love he had left in his heart, Arthur always made sure that his boys at least had a good supper. The thought reminded him that they would be coming home from school in a few hours, so it would probably be wise to get the meal started, especially now that there would be a meal for four.

Arthur came back to reality to find that his hand was on the refrigerator door, ready to dull his rambling mind by flooding it with the numbing bitterness a good cold beer provided. Just when he was about to close his hands around the can, he felt an ominous prickling on the back of his neck. Quickly switching to grab a nearly empty carton of orange juice, he turned around and found himself face to face with Francis.

"I put my bag in the closet." He said with a gentle smile, reaching into the refrigerator past Arthur and grabbing the beer he had originally gone for. "Oh, I suppose I should give you your rations now." He said.

Arthur flushed in embarrassment. The way Francis spoke made him feel like a dog that needed to wait to be fed. He snorted at how ridiculous that sounded, clutching the orange juice to his chest and trying to pretend as though drinking the beer had never been his intention. "Rations…" he repeated with a huff, chugging the last of the juice and crossing over to toss it into the trash. "I didn't realize I was in the midst of a war."

"Why of course you are!" said Francis earnestly, shifting the beer from hand to hand idly. "You're right in the battlefield, desperately trying to win the war in your mind." He gushed.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Oh quit trying to sound poetic. There's no such thing. I'm perfectly fine."

"You're more delusional than I thought." Said Francis, fiddling with the tab. Arthur stared hopefully, starting to feel a little anxious. Truth to be told, the orange juice hadn't quite quenched his thirst. But he couldn't exactly give the other the satisfaction that he was too weak to resist.

"I'm not an alcoholic." Said Arthur, ruffling his hair and looking away with a sigh. "I only drink because…because…" Arthur lowered his head, he couldn't think of a reason that he was comfortable telling Francis yet. It made him feel worse and only made the craving stronger.

"Yes yes yes you can quit any time you wanted to." Said Francis, setting the beer on the counter and leaning on it.

Arthur glared at Francis. "Antonio's a stupid git." He huffed. "I mean it, I don't have a problem and even if I did, it's not anyone's business but my own."

"Oh stop whining and relax." Said Francis, straightening up. "I'm the last one to support a completely dry spell! In fact, I make it a point to have a glass of wine every night before bed." He winked and ran his hand through limp, blonde hair. "For my health you know."

"Oh…really?" said Arthur, feeling some of the tension dissolve a bit at that confession. "I'm honestly surprised someone in your position could afford that kind of routine."

Francis's smile didn't waver but seemed a little more solemn. "Ahh, Arthur." He sighed, tossing the beer through the air to Arthur, who caught it eagerly. "I didn't say it was a big glass and it certainly wasn't good wine. Still, much better than beer. It's no wonder you've got quite a belly."

The idea that Arthur was anything other than slim or fit deeply unsettled him, especially when he so frequently and harshly judged Alfred for his oblong waistline. He looked down in horror, as though to confirm to himself that he wasn't a whale that somehow learned on to walk on land. Arthur scoffed, glaring back up at Francis. "I most certainly do not have a belly!" he exclaimed, opening a beer.

FSSSH!

Swearing, Arthur stumbled back. His ingrained reflex of opening a beer as soon as it was in his hand had caused him to forget that Francis had shaken up and THROWN the beer at him, thus making him the victim of a very wet hand, beer overflowing onto his fingers and onto the floor.

Francis snickered into his hand. "There you are, half a beer sounds good enough to start you off"

"Mother of…You're going to clean this-!" snapped Arthur, but to his surprise, Francis had already taken a sponge from the sink and gone down onto hands and knees to sop up the puddle. He swallowed and looked down, bringing his hand up to lick the beads of beer up like a kitten. "Up…" he finished, stepping to the side so he was out of the others way. The can of beer felt so light. Damn him, all that wasted goodness. If Francis hadn't been in the room Arthur probably would have gone down and lapped it up off the floor until it was licked perfectly clean.

"Back when I tried to quit smoking." Said Francis, getting up to squeeze the sponge out in the sink and returning to clean the rest of the mess. "I'd bend them down the middle and make them into two pieces. So…one had a filter and the other didn't, but whenever I needed a smoke, I'd only take half." He stood up, squeezing the sponge into the sink a final time and getting a paper towel to dry his hands silently. After a moment Francis whispered softly, ominously as though he had been transported back to those dark times. "It was absolutely horrible."

"But!" he said, flipping moods like a coin, grinning at Arthur. "It was so much better than cold turkey. Literally too, have you ever tried it? Dry powdery meat and a gravy with a texture like jam. UGH! And that was back in Roubaix, I wouldn't risk my life trying the British version." He offered Arthur his own paper towel, for the hand still dripping with beer, his smile gentle. "But in any case, no more ashtrays…"

Arthur took the towel, crumbling it up in one hand, refusing to put down the beer to do a better job. "I suppose that makes a lot of sense." He said. "After all, it would only be foolish for someone who was homeless to continue wasting money on rancid cancer sticks when they should be saving up to get a home." He said, shrugging.

Francis's smile completely evaporated, replaced with an ugly look of disgust. "I can only agree…" he said with clenched teeth. "Just as foolish as someone destroying their liver and their children by overindulging in silly water."

Arthur stopped drinking in shock. Was that…supposed to be a dig at him? He slammed the empty can down on the counter and snarled, already irritated by the fact that he hadn't had enough. "Somehow I find it hard to imagine that you have the best interests of either my organs or my children in mind." He said after a moment of pondering, trying his best to keep his temper under control, squeezing the can.

"Oh, I believe that." Said Francis, looking up, his fingers tensely gripping the edge of the counter. "You have no imagination at all. You can't even imagine a world where you're a hopeless bum."

Arthur laughed hollowly, slowly approaching Francis, who stepped back. "Hate to remind you about it, but the only bum here is…YOU!" he shouted. Francis flinched, holding tightly onto the counter and remaining tight lipped.

"You don't even know the first thing about me to be reminding me about anything." Said Francis softly, staring right into Arthur's eyes.

"What is it? Huh?" chattered Arthur. "What exactly is Antonio's plan anyway?" Is it that I'm supposed to be inspired by your failures in life? Be reminded not to make the same mistakes you did?" he ranted, continuing to advance while Francis kept retreating backwards. "Am I supposed to just, look at you and think. 'Wow, if I don't shape up I'll end up like this hopeless miserable degenerate.' ?"

"There is nothing wrong with me." Said Francis firmly, straightening up and refusing to back away anymore. Arthur bumped into him, their chests touching. He stumbled and put his hand onto the counter, right over Francis's trembling fingers. As soon as they touched, Francis stopped feeling so afraid, pulling his hand away and folding his arms. "What happened to me was never my fault and it has nothing to do with this. It doesn't define who I am." Although Francis was speaking sternly, he didn't seem to be talking to Arthur at all, but rather appeared to be repeating a personal mantra. "I have a job, I earn money."

"So you have a job." Grumbled Arthur, smirking. "Tell me then…How have you managed to reach this age…and yet still don't even have your own house?"

Francis laughed. "Ah…so you mean to tell me that as soon as you could fling newspapers all of the sudden you could afford rent, food, electricity…"

"Of course not!" said Arthur, turning around and rubbing his head, still feeling a little achy. "That's foolish! But, that's because I had the help of my parents supporting me while I saved up enough money to move out! So I want to know what exactly is SOOOO special about-" Arthur paused, stopping in his tracks.

Just like that night that he had gone into the car, Arthur had made another verbal slip thanks to intoxication meddling with his mind. Changing things around and rerouting neurons. Making him temporarily believe things that weren't true even though they should have been. Say things that were only half right. He had a wife. He had the help of his parent. More specifically, his father. Even more technically, saying that Arthur's father had "helped" him, was being extremely generous. Arthur turned around, wobbling on the spot.

"I'm sorry." He said, staring at the floor. It had become shiny where Francis had cleaned it, enough to highlight the fact that the rest of the kitchen, which had seemed fine at first, was wretchedly filthy and needed a good mop. Arthur could see his desolate reflection on the floor, face distorted by the extreme perspective so that he could see all of his worst flaws clearly. He couldn't stand looking at himself. He didn't think he could meet Francis' eye.

"It's alright." Said Francis shakily, which made Arthur feel even worse, knowing that his childish drunken outburst had had an effect on the other, even if Francis was trying to hide it. It wasn't alright, it would never be. When Arthur lifted his gaze up just a bit, he caught sight of the lucky cat teapot in the corner of the counter. It would never be alright, okay, good, or even fine. Not when everywhere he looked, he was reminded of the absolute devastation that was his life. He covered his face.

"Please make some supper…The kids will be home soon." He mumbled, slinking out back to his bedroom, where at least he could return to a nightmare that wasn't real.


Notes: Thank you all for being so patient and your constant feedback on this story. Like I said, it really makes me so happy to hear that you guys enjoy it so much. Please remember to recommend this story to your friends, leave a review on what you found interesting about this chapter and last but not least add it to your favorites and subscribe so you can be notified when it updates! Without you guys, this story would never have made it off the ground.

So for one thing, this chapter was not only very long, I actually rewrote it about 3 different times to get the right feel with the rest of the story and make it coherent. I won't get into it too much just yet...but let's just say that the inspiration for this story comes from a personal level. I'm sure you can imagine how it can be difficult at times. (Not implying that writing this story is a problem, it's in fact therapeutic, it's the environment that's an issue.) Those who follow my tumblr (fruk-this) may instantly know what I'm talking about and I thank you all for your support.

In any case, thanks a lot for reading, please come back in a few weeks for Chapter 9 for some more drama between Arthur and Francis!