Chapter 5

Settling in

Moving to a new place had never been that all easy for Arthur, the dramatic alteration to his lifestyle sent his timetable all over the place more often than not. Now, however, his timetable seemed to have been plucked from his hands, held out of reach teasingly, then ripping to shreds before his very eyes. He supposed he should be thankful that he wasn't late, though the manner in which he was woken erased any chance of showing it. Instead of the usual, continuous beeps of his small travel clock (which had apparently broken 2 days ago, and was blamed entirely for his failure of a first day), he was stirred by a pinch to his nose. Brilliant. He had hoped the events of the previous day were figments of his imagination. His eyelids opened groggily.

Now, he wasn't sure what the norm for waking up was here, but he was more than certain that it did not entail a Frenchman leaning over him, too close for comfort. Arthur let out a particularly girlish shriek from shock, arms jerking about in some kind of flawed karate stance. He looked more like the human swastika than somebody ready to jump into action. "Christ! A little warning next time, if you even understand the sodding concept!"

Francis wanted to take him seriously, he really did, but that grew exceedingly difficult to manage given the sheer spectacle of the Briton. He was a complete mess, nothing like the 'gentleman' he'd had the (not so great) pleasure of accompanying the other day. Cropped blonde hair shot out every which way, stuck with a significant amount of grease (not the stylish kind, that admittedly irritated him), and his tie had somehow managed to wander up and entangle itself in that wild mop. It was almost a shame that Francis had caved to let him sleep on the sofa; Arthur really did look cute when he slept. Also, as if to completely ruin the moment, he had chosen to remain fully clothed in his attire from yesterday. "You know, you are the one who slept in, I do not see why I should be the one getting yelled at… No rest for the beautiful, oui?" He winked, cerulean eyes tracing that irked visage.

Was that…?

It was.

A line of drool, almost unnoticeable at first, but definitely there. Too good to miss. He swiped his thumb across it, bringing out first an exclamation of shock, outrage. A crimson hue graced those perfect cheeks, casting his ghostly countenance a rosy pink. Adorable.

"Do try to limit your narcissism to your so-called fan club; a grateful audience is not one you'll find here." He sprung up and adjusted his tie in the mirror. Even an idiot could see that he only had eyes for leaving at this point. Pity that a certain Frenchman did not.

"For somebody who is living the dream of every woman in the university, you do not seem to be very grateful…" Francis sighed, only now picking up that his prudish roommate intended to exit there and then. He spread his arms wide to block the door seconds before Arthur could reach for it.

"Am I to reach the conclusion that you intend for me to be late? Step aside, frog." He grumbled, frowning to the extreme as each grab for the handle was swatted away.

"Cher, you have not eaten! It is no wonder that you are so grumpy all of the time if you are not aware of the importance of breakfast!"

Had he heard that correctly? Was he actually being lectured, by a Frenchman, no less? "Drop the concerned mother act. In France they may be obsessed with the dietary code, but here, few give a toss, least of all I."

"You poor underprivileged boy… Go back, I will get you something."

"This is bloody ridiculous."

"Maybe so, but I will not move until you do it."

Pondering whether to simply shove Francis aside, the self-proclaimed gentleman paused before giving a resigned look; 'I'll do it, but I won't ruddy well enjoy it,' before begrudgingly taking a seat upon a ridiculously modern-looking plastic stool. It looked more like one of those blobs falsely entitled 'modern art' instead of anything even slightly resembling a chair.

Only now, whilst the Frenchman set to work upon the counter like a tentative housewife, did Arthur have the time to actually look around the place. (The previous night he had wanted to put the entire episode behind him as soon as possible, therefore jamming the television on for the remainder of the evening and refusing to switch over to Francis' sappy love dramas despite his many pleas. Despite seeming like a practical decision at the time, he hadn't exactly received the grand tour of his new home as a result.)

To his left towered a mountainous bookcase, which, despite its almost grand appearance, was riddled with a mixture of erotic novels and fashion magazines. That ruled out the possibility of finding any decent literature, a surprisingly greater burden than having to move in with the frog in the first place.

Aside from the corner acting as a kitchen and the exit, he was left with the three other rooms available: the bathroom, Francis' room (which he had suggested Arthur sleep in, only to be awarded with the second punch to his gut during that day), and the spare room, which was still being emptied of god-knows-what. Judging by what he had seen, he couldn't say that he was all that keen on finding out.

"Bon appétit!" Snapping Arthur out of his irritable search, the familiar clink of a plate was brought down under his nose and onto the glass surface of the table. There, dominating the dish, sat a steaming croissant, and besides it, a small espresso. The former succeeded in captivating the attention of his nostrils, drawing an intense rumbling from his gut in the process (he wasn't even aware of his hunger until now), the latter, a dreadful glare.

This, bringing about an amused chuckle from Francis, at least helped to break the contemptuous atmosphere. "I was right, was I not? You really are determined to be a stereotype…" With a shake of his head, he claimed the despised beverage for himself and plopped (lazily but elegantly) onto the seat opposite.

"Well, if we must pry into personal faults, then you seem to be set on aggravating me. Or is this just another quirk of the French?"

"You may never know with us, non? It is another trait your kind has picked up from mine, from what I have seen during my time here."

He took a break from consuming the meal halfway through, attempting to put out an indifferent vibe. He failed from the get-go. "Avoid such comparisons in the future, if you would. I shouldn't think that you would particularly enjoy being throttled."

"Such harsh words, especially since I went to the trouble of preparing you a meal… You could at least allow yourself to express how sumptuous it is instead of putting on that stuffy front of yours."

And with that, the Briton practically choked upon his last mouthful of breakfast. It seems his avoidance of inhaling the meal got him nowhere. "What?" Tone weak, he hurriedly dabbed at the crumbs spilt down his chin. How embarrassing…

"You heard me, did you not?" He took the Englishman's plate to put in the dishwasher. "I must say, I was not expecting your hearing to be as bad as your memory…"

That was it. He'd be damned if he didn't retort to that one, in fact, he was just forming the words at that very moment, that is, until his eyes fell upon the small clock (a wire Eiffel Tower with a clock face inside of it; why was he not surprised?). 11:53.

Using the most energy the Frenchman had ever witnessed from the typically reluctant fellow, he scrambled to his feet, grabbed hold of his briefcase beside the door (he would have to talk to Arthur about that, what a terrible fashion sense…), and made the noise of a hundred elephants just by exiting.

That had been… odd. Why was he in such a hurry? It was not as though they were late. Were they? Then, just as Arthur had done before him, he glanced to the clock. And he freaked out.

How was that for a first morning? ^w^ Fair to say the attraction is fairly one-sided... For now. *evil cackling*