"I cannot believe I let you talk me into doing this..."

There was a soft chuckle before Francis reached out to place his hand over Arthur's, though the other pulled away almost instantly. "I didn't talk you into this," the Frenchman said, grinning smugly, completely unfazed by the other s actions. "It was your idea."

"You started it," the Englishman said, eyeing the remains of the magnificent meal Francis had prepared earlier in the evening. He was quite the chef, Arthur had to admit. If a job opened up for a chef, there was no chance of Francis being turned away. His dream wasn't an empty one, after all. "I just said that I'd rather do it here than in public." There was a short pause before the Englishman concluded, "I'm too much of a gentleman to turn down doing a favor for one whom I owe so much to."

"I had no idea you were a gentleman," was all Francis said.

"Of course I am!"

"Honestly," Francis said, chuckling softly and pouring yet more of some fine wine or another into a pair of glasses, "I'm surprised you allowed me to treat you to dinner at all."

"I already told you, it's payment for your helping me out as much as you have." Arthur went silent for a long moment before he took the glass of wine his companion offered. This would be his third glass, and he knew he would soon he reaching his limit. Shrugging it off, he took a tentative sip before he spoke: "This isn't a date, you know."

"Isn't it, though?" Francis asked, one well-groomed brow raised in confusion.

"Of course not," the Englishman said with a slight shake of his head, though even in the dim candlelight dancing through Matthew's elegant dining room, his blush was apparent. "It's a simple dinner engagement."

"Oh, so we're engaged now?" Francis gave a playful grin at that, lifting his glass in a mock toast. "I knew that you liked me, but-"

"We are not engaged!"

Ah, that had been a little harsh, and the Frenchman seemed genuinely hurt. Breathing deep, Arthur took a moment to compose himself. "And I don't like you," he added, his voice calm once more. "Not in the way you're implying, anyway."

"Cher, I think-"

"And stop with that," the Brit said next, that pretty scowl still present on his face. "My name is Arthur, not cher, or cherie, or any other of those other silly nicknames. You know that."

"It's a show of affection," the other said, a knowing smile on his face, "though I can call you by your name if you wish."

"I do."

There was another soft smile before Francis said very softly, his voice nothing more than a dark purr, "Arthur."

"What?" said grumpy Englishman replied, unable to meet the older man's eyes.

"It's nothing, really," Francis said, smiling coyly at the other. "I'm just testing out your name. I must admit, it feels nice. Rolls off the tongue quite nicely. Arthur Kirkland..."

"And now you're being creepy." Arthur rolled his eyes, still unable to look at the blonde across the table from him. Instead, he focused on the label on the wine bottle the Frenchman had left on the table: Some fifty years old, with a name he couldn t pronounce. It must have been expensive. Just how much money did this family have?

"Is there a middle name in there somewhere?" Francis asked next, that mischievous glint still glittering away in his eyes, his smile oddly infectious. "Or is it just Arthur Kirkland?"

Smiling a bit in spite of himself, the other answered, "You arranged my paperwork, Francis. You already know my middle name."

Francis paused for a moment, seemingly wracking his brain for the name before he asked all too seriously, "Isn't it Rodriguez?"

There was a snort of laughter before Arthur exclaimed, "Of course it isn't!"

The Frenchman frowned a bit, though his eyes were still sparkling brilliantly . "Was it Toulouse?" he asked. It was odd how innocent he sounded.

Another laugh sounded before Arthur disagreed, "Certainly not."

There was a short moment of silence before Francis exclaimed, "Oh, I think I have it!"

Arthur just smiled expectantly.

"Is it Coqui?"

That one certainly earned a chuckle. "Is that even a name?"

"I think it's a South American frog, actually," Francis admitted, shrugging his shoulders and smiling. When he glanced up again, he nearly had to catch his breath. Arthur was glorious when he smiled, the dim, flickering candlelight dancing in those beautiful emerald eyes.

There was a long moment of silence then, Arthur in amusement and Francis in awe. It was strange that they were so comfortable together, Arthur couldn t help but think, but there was indeed comfort in this, in just being in the Frenchman s presence. There was no pressure here, no disapproving eyes to act for. It was nice.

They had only known each other for a few months, but, as much as it pained him to admit it, there were feelings there. Arthur gave a soft sigh, dropping his eyes to the floor. Try as he might to deny it, he knew that he'd have to come to grips with it sooner or later.

"It's Reginald."

"Hmm?" Emerald and sapphire locked for a brief moment before Arthur broke and looked away.

"Your middle name," Francis said, his smile returning threefold as he stared down into the burgundy liquid in his glass. "It's Reginald."

"Oh, um..." Arthur cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. "Yes, it's Reginald."

"You're being awfully quiet all of the sudden," the Frenchman noted, his voice soft, looking just the slightest bit concerned. "Is there something on your mind?"

"No." Arthur said it far too quickly for it to sound convincing, and the way he was suddenly crossing his arms and glaring off to one side made it clear that something was indeed bothering him.

"Is it me?"

"Must you be so arrogant?" was the Brit's response, though he could do nothing to hide the vibrant blush that was quickly overtaking his face. "Of course I'm not thinking about you. I wouldn't give a second thought to the likes of you."

Francis just smiled.

Arthur, however, was less than amused, uttering an emotionless, "Stop that."

"What for?" the Frenchman challenged, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table eyeing the other a bit too intensely. "You know I'm right."

"You aren't right," Arthur argued, his brows furrowing in irritation. "I was simply thinking of my life, and the direction that it's currently headed in."

"And what direction would that be?" Francis asked, genuinely curious, all traces of mirth replaced by inquisition.

There was a dark, dismal pause before the Englishman came to his conclusion: "I don't know anymore."

"I have to wonder if I'm to go the same direction..."

"I couldn't tell you," was all Arthur said, his eyes still trained on the far wall.

"I hope I am."

Arthur said nothing, though this time he didn't pull away when the Frenchman's hand was placed over his. Instead, the Brit upturned his own hand, lacing their fingers together, palms touching. His next two words were just the slightest bit louder than a whisper: "I do, too."

"Arthur..."

"I was really hoping this wouldn't happen," was all he had to say. His downcast eyes, gnawed lower lip and flushed cheeks, however, spoke volumes.

"What's that?" Francis knew how stubborn the other man was, but he wanted so much to hope.

"France is the country of love, is it not?" Arthur asked.

"Yes, of course."

"Then, being from France, you ought to recognize love when you see it, shouldn't you?"

Francis said nothing, too stunned to speak, merely holding the other's hand tighter.

He had seen that look on Arthur before, but it wasn't the look he wanted to see. This wasn't the love he had so hoped for, but some form of adoration, of gratitude. This was the same look he had seen the first time he had inquired about Alfred. It was a step in the right direction, a step towards the love he so yearned for, but a bit disappointing nonetheless.

"I really think I do, Francis," Arthur said, his voice shaky. "I really do." He sighed, wetting his lips, unable to meet the older man's eyes.

At long last, Francis spoke. "I recognize an infatuation in you," he said, softly and slowly, yet oh so deliberately. "I adore you, truly I do, but I think from your end, it's a simple crush. I don't think you're the sort to fall quite so fast. I helped you out, the same as Alfred did, and I think you're simply feeling some intense form of gratitude."

Arthur, of course, was not one to agree with anyone but himself, and he could do nothing to stop himself from fighting that assessment. "I think I would know better than you," was his argument, huffy and indignant.

"You mistook adoration for love once before, Arthur," Francis said, doing his best not to embrace the voices in his head screaming to take what he could get. "Are you certain this time around is any different?"

The Englishman took a moment to think, his thick brows furrowing. "I am," was his eventual conclusion.

"Then say it," Francis challenged, looking surprisingly calm.

"What?"

"If you love me," the Frenchman said, "then say it."

There was another long intake of breath before Arthur could so much as bring himself to speak. "I..." He sighed. "I really..."

"You really what?"

There was a brief pause before a harsh bark of, "I can't say it!"

"Why not?" Francis asked.

"I rarely even said it to my family," the Brit said, shrugging. "There's no way I could possibly say it to you."

"Then there's no way I could possibly believe you," was Francis's response.

"Francis-"

"When you can say the words," the Frenchman said, his tone strong and steady as he tightened his grip on the smaller blonde s hand, "then I'll believe it."