Arthur stood in front of Walt's closed door. He put off talking as long as he possibly could. He took a long shower, ate the slowest meal ever, and lingered a while. There was no mental prep considering that the conversation could take any turn. With a deep breath Arthur knocked.

Walt opened the door with a smile. "Ready to talk?"

He moved giving space for Arthur to come in. Instead Arthur pivoted and waved him arm. "Come on."

He led Walt into his room and sat in the desk chair letting the momentum spin him around slowly. Walt stood for a moment before sitting on the edge of the bed. Awkwardness grew from the floor and infected the silence in the air. Arthur looked up and continued his slow spinning. He slowed about to speak, but Walt beat him to it.

"I'm sorry about yesterday."

"I was a bit of an ass." Arthur stopped the chair so he could look at his brother.

"And I deserved it."

Arthur nodded. "Yeah, you did."

They stared at each other. Arthur felt the urge to start spinning again, but the serious look on Walt's face kept him still.

"I really didn't know how to bring it up."

Arthur scoffed, "Easy. You just say you are going away for a bit. Like, come on, Walt, you always push me to tell you everything about me, and then don't do the same?" Arthur may have spoken too intensely for a conversation that was supposed to be about Wales.

Walt stuttered a little trying to find the best way to start what he wanted to say. "I got it in my head that telling you would hurt you and was trying to think of the best way. In the end, I was just selfishly putting it off."

Arthur pursed his lips. Walt always focused on the lesser things Arthur said. They shared a look, Arthur raised an eyebrow. He wanted his brother to speak to all of what was said and had no problem stealing Walt's silent treatment schtick.

"You know, I always felt like an outcast in the family, right?" Arthur leaned forward holding his breath. He wanted to agree - yes, yes he did know - but didn't want to stop Walt from talking. "I guess, I saw that happening to you but maybe even more. I found a way to be relatively happy while still being here, but you have a different personality and stuff. I notice things, Arthur, and I realized I had a chance to help, to be there for you. That's why I want you to share all the time. I can tell you need it."

"And you want to be a fixer," Arthur muttered.

"I'm the older brother. I know how hard it is to be different, and realized I can help so you wouldn't have to learn the hard way how to accept that."

Arthur shifted in the chair, taking a moment to grip the armrests before rubbing his face. He needed to keep his cool. Supposedly, they were talking about music and literature, and it wouldn't do good to overreact.

"Shit sucks," Arthur whispered with a dry grin. Walt chuckled.

"I felt, still feel, bad about taking away the ability for you to rant and be different at home with someone else."

"You know, it's not actually that big of a deal."

"Arthur…"

"No, I get it, and you get it. It fucking sucks. You've been there when I can't leave and needed to reach out, but there's only so much you can do. I guess I've been having a hard time with you here, so what difference will it make, you know?"

"I have to accept brothers can't fix everything." Walt tilted his head trying to mentally hold Arthur in place. "Unless you want to talk about anything now."

Arthur let out a loud groan. He observed Walt a moment. His brother sat on the bed patiently. Arthur swallowed. "Brothers can't fix everything."

Walt rubbed his hands up and down his legs a little irritation bleeding through. "But older brothers can give advice, right?"

Arthur blinked. The turn in conversation surprised him. "I… Sure, yeah, you always give good advice."

Walt smirked at the compliment but it didn't reach his eyes. He patted his legs loudly and shifted so he was sitting cross legged. "Well, I have a lot to say, so get pumped. Firstly, fuck everyone else."

Arthur tried to hold it in, but ended up letting out a loud, hysterical laugh.

"That wasn't the most delicate way of putting it, but I mean it. Everyone wants to push ideas on you and tell you how to be. Arthur, you can only ever be what you are. You have to remember that. Mom and dad, the people they are around, they think you can change people and that it's this easy thing that requires a little discipline. It's not. It's never worth hurting yourself to fit into whatever box people want you to be in."

Arthur closed his eyes. Some of what Walt was saying reminded Arthur of Francis. "Some things aren't good to be."

"I guess, but you get to decide. You get to figure that stuff out on your own."

Arthur bit his lip in thought.

Walt continued, "Remember when we used to sit in my room and just listen to music? Supposedly, two brothers listening to experimental music was something we shouldn't have been, but that's just what some people think. Some people think you shouldn't be a little shit with your friend by calling your brother illiterate, but others think it's hilarious. Everyone has an opinion, but there's a point where yours is the most important. You're young, and that means right now you should be figuring out all that kind of stuff by making mistakes and trying different things."

Arthur's lip twitched up at Walt's attempt at humor. Instead of acknowledging the heavy statements his brother made, he chose to focus on the joke.

"I'm not a little shit, and me and Francis aren't talking."

He didn't know why he said it. He didn't really want to talk about everything that had been happening with Francis lately or about the crush he just couldn't seem to shake off. Yet, he still said it, so maybe he actually did.

"Why aren't you talking to Francis?"

Arthur shrugged as if the move of his shoulders could turn back time and make him swallow his previous words back down. "I just said we weren't."

"As if Francis would ever not talk to you."

"Yeah, okay, fine, I've been trying to avoid Francis."

Walt's lips twitched with hidden laughter. "Trying?"

"The world likes to punish me."

This time Walt did laugh. "You know that's not true. Besides, what did Francis do that was so bad? He's outgoing, but not mean."

"Nothing. I decided I didn't want to hang out with him anymore."

"You're not being an ass to someone because of stuff your family says about them are you?"

"That's not…" Arthur's voice trailed off. It wasn't everything, but it was one of the reasons for their first fight, and there was no way Arthur was going to try to explain everything else that had been running through his head.

"So, how about one last piece of advice?" Walt asked after a quiet moment.

"Please don't tell me that I should apologize or something."

"Not where I was going. When I'm gone, don't push everyone away. I know you're this introvert who sits with stuff, but sometimes you need others and sometimes they say things and do things you don't like. Doesn't mean you should cut off all the support."

"Yeah. Okay."

Walt stood grinning, ready to leave. Arthur tilted his head, a dark thought entering his mind. "Do you follow all this advice?"

Walt paused. "Yes, or at least I try to."

"I think." Arthur pursed his lips trying to find the right words. He didn't want to pick a fight, but it was hard to make his point without using fighting words. "It can be hard to heed your advice when you join in on judgement, too. You can't act like it's just everyone else that judges and tries to bend the world to their will. It means, uh, it means there could be some flaws in what you say."

Walt walked closer to lean against the desk. "I don't get it."

"Like the other night at dinner, when everyone was talking about Tino."

Walt's face dropped and a guilty expression grew. "Do you know Tino?"

Arthur shook his head no. It wasn't a lie. He only met Tino's boyfriend. After a pause where Walt didn't say anything, Arthur met his eye and stated, "He sounded a little like Francis."

Walt stood stiffly, the guilty look from his face bleeding down his body emanating off his form. At least Arthur could tell Walt wasn't happy about what was being implied. His brother stuttered over a possible response. He couldn't find a way to articulate the jumble in his head before Arthur continued speaking.

"Scott told me everyone has trouble fitting in."

Arthur could feel the way Walt closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. "Having deep conversations with Scott all of a sudden?"

"Not really. You know how he is. We had time to do the brother bonding thing when we were with dad."

Walt traced the desk with his hand watching the way his finger outlined the books and notebooks. "He does have his moments."

"That he does." Arthur continued to watch Walt's face attempting to decipher all the emotions shifting on it. Walt paused his hand and let his fingers tap on a book softly.

"I am not perfect. Sometimes I am the ass out of the two of us." Arthur snorted and Walt turned to lean fully against the desk. "Francis is good, and I shouldn't have laughed at anything said about Tino. The guy doesn't deserve that even behind his back."

"Okay."

"You'll still think about everything I said? About having a support system and being yourself? I really want you to take care of yourself when I leave."

"Yeah, I can do that."

Walt gave Arthur a small smile. "Good." He reached and ruffed Arthur's hair. Arthur half-heartedly pushed his hand away.

Arthur sat on Walt's advice for a while. He had no plans to reconcile with Francis any time soon. He had found a way to be himself without having to deal with everything, and Francis was a temptation he was not ready to acknowledge. Walt's advice was good, and, despite his faults, what he said made sense. Arthur could take care of himself and deal with his problems.

With the mental strength given by Walt, Arthur did take good care of himself. He wrote pages of poems, hung out with Walt, and found the time to call Vlad about meeting up. Having Walt nearby helped him cope with everything, even if he never talked about it. Sadly, Walt could only spare so much time before having to fall into the routine of packing and planning his trip. Arthur hated disturbing people when they had things to do. Plus, he felt a thrumming under his skin. He needed to talk to someone, but couldn't get past the fear. What he needed was to be able to not think.

That's how Arthur found himself pacing his room. He needed to be able to handle himself with Walt gone. He could handle Scott's puff jokes, his dad pushing him to act certain ways and his mom's glances. Yet, Arthur had a taste of freedom in a way. With a sigh, he opened his window. Just a few drinks to get his mind off Walt leaving, and, then, he'd be fine.

He'd been out a few times since his conversation with Walt. Going out was his way of being himself it seemed. Sadly, being himself came with a price tag that Arthur couldn't afford as often as he'd like. He was slowly figuring out how to finagle his way into free drinks, but Ivan's prices were a little steep for a sixteen-year-old. He needed to do that kind of stuff less anyways. A promise to take care of himself meant a promise to take care of his body. Therefore, alcohol would have to do for now - alcohol and maybe another guy. Besides, being himself meant giving in sometimes and letting himself drown his sorrows with liquor and men in the dark corners.

Arthur climbed onto the roof and slid the window mostly closed behind him. He climbed down with little effort, landing on his feet softly. He shivered at the cold air. In a fit of self expression, he ripped up an t-shirt so that he didn't look so stuffy all the time. As for the jeans, Arthur told himself the tears helped them fit better and that they weren't just from failed attempts of climbing up to his window while wearing pants he practically grew out of.

The night went by fast for Arthur as if he was living his life in fast forward skipping from one scene to the next. He was walking down the street. He was in a pub. Buy a drink. Have another drink. Accept a drink from some man. A shot toasted to Walt. Accept a drink. Be outside. The world spins. God dammit the world would not stay still. Knock on a door.

The world paused, rewound one scene back and began playing at normal speed.

An inebriated Arthur pounded on a door. He leaned into the wood to balance himself better. He knocked again and pushed himself off the door with an exaggerated sway. A look of concentration was on his face as he patted at his hair. He was on a mission and needed to look the part. He lifted a fist to knock again, but this time the door opened. Arthur pulled the fist back and put it by his head as he leaned against the wall both to balance himself and to look cool.

"'Ello, Francis," Arthur slurred.

"Arthur?" Francis stepped back as Arthur stumbled into the house. Not knowing how else to handle the situation, Francis closed and locked the door behind him.

"You look great tonight, as always." Arthur stated matter-of-factly as he spun around taking in the house. He turned to grin at a confused looking Francis, raking his eyes up and down his form. Francis had on pajama pants and a robe. His hair was in a messy bun, a few strands hanging loose around his face. Despite his concern, Francis couldn't help but smile at the state of his usually tight-laced friend.

"Do you need me to call someone?"

Arthur walked up to Francis criss crossing his feet with each step. "I came here to see you." He punctuated his statement with a smirk and poke to Francis's clothed chest. Arthur frowned. Francis was not meeting his gaze; rather, seemed to be deliberately looking away. Arthur stepped forward again, noting how Francis swallowed.

"What happened to you shirt?"

"Huh?" Arthur looked down. He was in fact bare-chested. He ran a hand over his chest and down his stomach as if he would be able to feel what he couldn't see. Yet, the mystery of his missing shirt was not one he cared much for. Instead, he stepped back, putting his weight on one foot. "Like what you see?"

"You're drunk." Francis stated for lack of anything better to do. "And very lucky my parents are out of town." With how often they are gone, Arthur would have to be lucky for them to be in town, which is why he hadn't even considered it a possibility.

"Well, you are attracted to men."

Francis crossed his arms defensively the amusement from before leaving his face. Sensing a response, Arthur put a finger to Francis lips leaning in close. Francis widened his eyes and leaned back slightly suddenly realizing how close he was to the wall. Arthur lowered his hand but didn't move back at all.

Whispering, he stepped closer making Francis step back against the wall, "which is great because so am I."

Francis visibly swallowed, eyes trained on Arthur's face so as not to let his eyes wander. At Arthur's admission, he turned his head away, but that didn't stop the grin Arthur formed as he noticed the way Francis's breathing had been picking up.

"You don't," Francis cleared his throat, "You don't want to be having this conversation like this."

"You're right." Arthur placed a hand on Francis's chest. Using just his eyes, Francis glanced to look at Arthur's face which hadn't changed much since he started talking. Arthur began rubbing his thumb back and forth. Francis clenched his jaw. "I didn't come here to talk, Francis."

Arthur pushed forward, forcing Francis to be sandwiched between him and the wall. He ran his hand down to the knot of the rob and undid it so that it fell open slightly. His grin widened at the sight of Francis's chest. He had gotten glimpses of chest hair before, but this was much better.

"And I thought you couldn't be more perfect. Look at you," Arthur ran a hand up Francis's chest making him shiver.

"What are you doing?"

"Making us match," Arthur suggested with a sly grin. He continued to run his hand up to Francis's shoulder.

"Arthur…" It was meant to be a warning but came out too shaky. Francis swallowed and tried again. "I don't think -"

Arthur cut him off by brushing his lip against his jaw feeling the stubble there. Using the grip he had on Francis's shoulder he pulled himself close to his ear and muttered, "I came here to seduce you."

At some point during Arthur's movement, Francis had placed his hands on Arthur's hips. A good subconscious move on his part as he was able to stop Arthur from rolling his hips against his leg and maintain some control over the situation. At Arthur's words, his fingers twitched and me mouthed to the air, "Fuck."

Although Francis was able to hold their hips apart, Arthur was still able to reach him. He grabbed the side of Francis's face and gently moved it so that they were facing, noses almost touching. Through a drunken haze, Arthur focused on Francis's eyes. There was so much he wanted to say. There was so much he could never say sober. There was so much that his drunk mind was having trouble translating into spoken word.

In the end, all Arthur was able to say was, "You have the bluest fucking eyes I've ever seen."

Francis's eyes widened, less because of the comment and more because of how Arthur pulled him in for a kiss after saying it. After the briefest of pauses to process what was happening, Francis kissed back.

Their kisses were messy and loud. Arthur pushed Francis so hard into the wall it almost hurt. He intertwined their legs, so that they could rub against each other's hips, which Arthur did forcibly making sure that Francis could feel him and knew. He gripped at Francis's hair tightly trying to pull him as close as possible just like he'd been daydreaming about for what felt like forever.

Francis panted into Arthur's moaning mouth. He slid his hands down to grip at Arthur's ass only serving to pull him closer and rub his own hardness against Arthur, searching for more friction. He squeezed Arthur closer, gripping tightly, and deepened the kiss, taking control by moving his tongue into Arthur's mouth who relaxed and moaned at the change of pace.

Arthur forcibly pulled Francis's messy hair to the side so that he could mouth at his scruffy jawline. He trailed his other hand down Francis's chest and stroked the hair on his naval. He moved Francis's head to go back to kissing him. In one swift movement, he pushed his hand into Francis's pants, grabbed, and stroked.

Francis's eyes widened at the touch. He moved his hands to Arthur's shoulders and pushed, throwing the other boy back.

"We shouldn't be doing this," he panted, eyes still wide in alarm.

"It's okay," Arthur stated. He tried to step closer again, but Francis held his arms out in front of him keeping distance between them.

"You're drunk."

"Great detective work, Sherlock. Now, come on." Again Arthur tried to get closer, and again Francis held him back.

"Arthur, I'm not going to take advantage of you like this," Francis said softly.

"It's not taking advantage if I want it," Arthur claimed, his eyes on the bulge in Francis's pants.

Francis shook his head to get rid of any tempting thoughts. "We can't do this when you're drunk."

Arthur stopped trying to fight through Francis's arms to get closer. The interest in his eyes morphed into sadness. "Why?" he muttered.

"I won't take advantage of you."

Arthur took a step back and rubbed at his face. "I… other people are fine with it. I just… why?"

Francis stiffened at the mention of other people, but calmed quickly letting his next words sound soothing. "I know you, and if I let you do this right now, you won't like it in the morning. If you're going to do something like this, you need to be sober."

Arthur's face twitched, he throat worked as he felt it close up. He whispered, "I could never regret it."

Francis mirrored his tone, "Guilt can hurt just as much as regret."

Arthur blinked quickly and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. "I hate how fucking wise you are." He turned to walk towards the couch, but stumbled to the ground.

Chuckling, Francis helped him up and got him to the couch. Arthur swayed, his head shifting around his shoulder before focusing on Francis. "I ever tell you how amazing you are?" The question came out more like a confession.

Francis ran his hand through his hair both as a means to fidget and to refix it. He shook his head no slowly, eyes trained on the drunk boy.

"It fucks me up, Francis, it really does." They stared at each other, taking in the other's eyes. Then, Arthur convulsed once, his stomach deciding it was awake. Francis grimaced.

"Oh my god, please don't get sick in here."

"Nah, no, I'm good," Arthur slurred over his answer, and shifted so he was slouching back. He began unbuttoning his pants.

"What are you doing?"

"Uncomfortable," Arthur stated as he undid his zipper in one quick, dramatic movement. His body shoulders shook as if he was about to puke. "I do not feel good," Arthur stated it as if he was surprised by the development.

Francis chuckled at the absurdity of his night. "Just stay put. I'll get you water." He eyed Arthur again. "And a trash can."

As Francis turned to leave, Arthur begged, "No, don't leave."

Francis paused and tried to quell Arthur's agitation with an explanation, but Arthur interrupted him.

"Don't leave. Everyone that gets me leaves. I can't handle all this alone." Arthur was beginning to tear up. Francis watched his friend break down shocked. He made his best attempt to calm Arthur down, but his discomfort made him speak quickly. "Arthur, Arthur, look at me. I'm just going to the kitchen."

Arthur shook his head and heaved again, making Francis take one step toward the kitchen seriously considering letting the breakdown happen, so he could get a trash can. Arthur slobbered, "Don't be like Walt."

The mention of Arthur's brother made Francis pause. He knelt down in front of Arthur grabbing his face. "Hey, Arthur, Arthur, look at me. I'm not sure what Walt did to upset you, but it's going to be okay."

"No."

"Yes, it is. It'll be fine, I promise. And I'm not leaving."

Arthur sniffled, but seemed to calm down at Francis's words. His glazed eyes ran back and forth over Francis's face unable to fully focus.

"Now, I'm going to go to the kitchen to get you some water and then come right back. I'm not leaving. I'm going to keep the light on, and no one would leave with the lights on, right?"

Arthur nodded. Francis stood. "Just stay right there. I'll get you water and a trash can and be right back. You won't get sick, right?"

Arthur gave him a thumbs up in response, not feeling up to opening his mouth. Francis made quick work in the kitchen and returned to the living room holding a glass of water and a small trash can. He heart stopped when he didn't initially see Arthur's head over the back of the coach. He ran into the living room and sighed.

Arthur was laying on the couch dead to the world. He was laying on his bent arms, mouth open, and storing softly. At some point, Arthur had taken off his pants and threw them over the side table. Francis wanted to laugh at the union jack boxers Arthur wore, because of course, that's what Arthur had on.

Instead, he set down the trash can on the ground near Arthur's face and set the water next to it. He grabbed a blanket off the back of one of the chairs and threw it over Arthur, tucking it in around his sides. He let himself run a hand through Arthur's bangs pushing them back.

He sat in one of the chairs just watching over Arthur for a while. He told himself it was to make sure he would be okay. Humming, he stroked his hand back and forth on his chin and neck in thought.

"You really are something, Arthur," he murmured into the empty room.

He eyed a clock on the wall. The morning was going to be interesting for sure.

Interesting was not what Arthur would ever call the next morning. To him, it was confusing and painful. He woke to delicious smells and a pounding head. As he lifted himself into a sitting position, the blanket fell. He grunted and pushed at his forehead in an attempt to handle the pain. He had had a few hangovers recently, but none this bad. It must be his punishment for trying to drink away his feelings.

Through squinted eyes, he noticed the quilted blanket covering his legs. He lifted the edge with one hand and muttered, "What?"

Then, he lifted his head fully to take stalk of the entire room. He was in a living room. The room itself wasn't cluttered, but something about the plethora of pictures on the wall and patterned rug on the floor made it feel full. It was homey and comforting like something that would belong to a caring grandmother you knew would cottle you when you visited. It was way more lived in than Arthur's own home, and he froze remembering where he was.

Stiffly, he peeked over the edge of the couch towards the kitchen. He listened intently to the movement and sounds of cooking.

"Oh, shit."

He plopped back down on the couch holding back from throwing the quilt over him in hopes of hiding everything. Footsteps approached. Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and tried to fight the blush he could feel growing on his face. Opening his eyes slowly, he saw a pajama-clad Francis putting two plates of food on the table.

"You're awake!" Francis exclaimed.

Arthur sat up feeling naked under Francis's gaze. He looked down realizing it was because he was in fact mostly naked. Any attempt to hide behind the blanket without Francis noticing was mute, but he did it anyways.

"Behind you," Francis gestured as he sat down in the nearest chair.

Arthur turned and, sure enough, there was a white button down over the back of the chair. One of Francis's for sure, but Arthur was not going to turn down a chance to cover up. While putting his arms through the sleeves, Arthur noticed the trash can by the couch.

Not even attempting to button the shirt he asked with a kick to the can, "Was I that bad?"

"How bad do you feel right now?"

Arthur chuckled and rubbed at this greasy hair, "Like absolute shit, but I don't think I'll be needing this." He tapped the can with his foot again.

Francis laughed, "Better than I would be expecting. The tea on the side table is for you, by the way. I have no idea if it'll actually help with the quesiness or not."

"You are the most hospitable person in the world," Arthur groaned out while reaching for the large, faded mug.

Francis hummed, "Wait until you try breakfast."

"As if your cooking could be anything but good."

"You've never had it," Francis pointed out.

Arthur shrugged it off. "Doesn't matter." He took a sip of the tea and hummed in contentedness. "With how much you know about that kind of stuff, you can't not be good."

"Wow, you're actually capable of kind of giving a compliment," Francis teased.

"Be nice. I'm hungover."

"About that, want to talk about it?"

Arthur eyed Francis. "Did you take off my pants?"

Francis blinked and then laughed. Arthur hated how the sound soothed his angry stomach. "You did that all on your own."

Arthur's cheeks reddened, and he did what he could to hide behind his tea. He very much remembered kissing Francis and being kind of forceful, but not much else. "Like I'm sure I said last night, I was having a rough day."

Raising one eyebrow Francis stated, "What do you think you said?"

Arthur tilted his head back and closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to face Francis. "I do remember that I ended up… being a little touchy, but, uh, I came over to talk about stuff," Arthur trailed off and opened his eyes to an amused Francis.

"That is not what you said you came for last night."

"Do I even want to know?"

"You said you came to seduce me." Francis shrugged as if what he said wasn't a huge deal.

If a sinkhole could open up in the floor and pull Arthur into the void, he would say a prayer of thanks before disappearing forever. Instead, he set down his tea, covered his face, and said a dignified, "Holy shit."

Francis sat back in his chair and began eating his breakfast. "It's okay. You were drunk."

Arthur lowered his hands nodding slowly. "Really drunk."

"After I refused, you did get upset and mention Walt."

"Good," Arthur mumbled while grabbing his tea again. Whether he meant Francis's refusal or his mention of Walt was unknown to both of them.

"Want to talk about it?"

"The joy of drinking is that you can have conversations you don't have to remember." Arthur put down his tea and grabbed a plate of food as a way to avoid looking at Francis. As Arthur reached for a plate, Francis watched him intently.

"Can't forget conversations if you don't have any when you get blackout drunk."

Sitting back, Arthur sighed and pushed eggs around his plate still not looking at Francis. In his mind, he was picturing what he did remember - the rush of everything that happened against the wall to his left.

"You know you can talk while sober. It's a novel thing."

Arthur shot a glare at Francis, but Francis met him with a steady gaze. Arthur sighed, "Walt's leaving."

"What?"

"You heard me. He's leaving."

"Where is he going?"

"Wales."

"Wales?"

"He's going to do research on sheep."

Francis chuckled, "Sheep research?"

Arthur talked through a mouthful of food. "Are you a parrot now?"

Francis leaned back holding his own plate of food. "Sorry, sorry. Going to Wales for sheep research is a little unexpected." Francis added, "Very Walt though. That sounds exactly like Walt."

"Yeah, well, he found his way out, and it's to do crazy science shit far away leaving me here to rot."

"There's tons of ways to get out."

"You don't even know what I'm talking about," Arthur accused.

Francis snapped, "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot I'm an idiot that doesn't understand anything."

Arthur winced. "I'm guessing I didn't get around to the apologizing part last night?"

Francis straightened. "Oh?"

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose.

Francis waved his arm with a smile silently demanding Arthur continue.

"I have been an asshole."

"Yes, you have and?"

"That's it."

"Is it?"

Arthur groaned, "You bloody fucking -" He was cut off by Francis's laughter. His unamused look only made the French teen laugh more.

"Oh, shut up."

"You're lucky I like you."

"Yeah," Arthur muttered. He put his plate back on the table and grabbed his tea again. Silence fell over them. After a moment, Arthur admitted, "I've been a prick, and you didn't deserve that."

Francis nodded. "Thanks."

Arthur continued drinking his tea. Francis finished his food and stacked his plate on Arthurs. He curled up in the armchair with his chin in his hand watching Arthur.

"Are you going to be okay?"

"I've been fine."

"Arthur."

"Look, I got it in my head last night that I might need someone when Walt's gone, and I came here. Don't overanalyze it."

Francis grinned and leaned over the arm of his chair. "Couldn't resist my charm," he teased.

"You're insufferable."

"Not what you thought last night."

Arthur put his tea down and stood. He began buttoning the shirt he was wearing as fast as his fingers would allow, ignoring how he was doing it crooked. The blush on his cheeks burned. He tried to avoid looking at Francis as he put his pants and shoes on.

"Arthur, I'm making jokes. You don't need to leave." Francis stood over Arthur who was finishing tying his shoes.

Arthur stood almost chest to chest with Francis. His hair was still a mess and his face was red.

"I'll see you at the next family dinner, Frog."

With that, Arthur turned and rushed out of the house. Francis listened to his patting footsteps as he walked away.

From the doorway, Francis smiled.

A/N: I've been waiting so long to share this chapter. It's been my favorite to write so far and I have just a few left first draft wise. It may be fun to know I wrote it while at work too, so that's a thing.

Thanks for everyone who've been sending me tips and stuff. It means a lot. I'm also sorry for not always sending a DM back. I mostly get on my computer just to upload and my phone hates the interface for sending private messages here. Just know it means a lot. (Shout out to ASillyGermaninLatinClass)

Also, I'm slowly reuploading the Boy with the Backpack to AO3 and, then, will repost this one there to. So if you see my fics start to pop up over there, it's me doing it.

I'm really excited about this and the upcoming chapters :)

Have a good weekend ya'll.