Chapter 3

The restaurant was very cramped, only having a few tables with a multitude of mismatched chairs sprinkled between them. A bell chimed over their heads as the door swung shut. There was a clang of pots from behind a freestanding wall and a man appeared from behind it, wiping his hands in his vivid red apron. He had ragged beard, a brawny build and his short, curly brown hair made him look like an ancient gladiator. Only his warm brown eyes - and perhaps the white frills on the apron - hinted at a less primaeval demeanour.

"Feliciano! Lovino!" He boomed, pulling the brothers into an embrace. Feliciano grinned, returning the hug while Lovino was doing his best to appear surly, though he also hugged the man, albeit half-heartedly. "Good to see you!"

The man then stepped towards Ludwig and Antonio, greeting them with hearty pats on the backs. Antonio winced, smiling weakly while Ludwig grunted in response. He laughed cheerfully before arriving at Arthur and Francis. He towered over them, frowning. "French," He said, pointing at Francis, "And English, if I'm not wrong." He finished, looking at Arthur."

"This is Francis and Arthur, new guests we have." Feliciano said happily, grabbing their arms and steering them into the heart of the restaurant, sitting them down between Ludwig and Antonio. It was a large round table, a guttering candle sitting in the middle, shaking as everyone sat down. There was an empty chair between Lovino and Feliciano, which Arthur suspected was for the chef. "This is our grandfather, Papa Roma." Feliciano said.

"You're just in time," Roma said, "I was just putting on some spaghetti, I'll add a bit more though as we seem to have a few more guests than usual." He moved into the back and they could hear the hiss of oil and a knife chopping. Arthur looked around, taking in the restaurant's atmosphere, but mostly doing his best to deter anymore from trying to engage him in conversation.

Fifteen minutes later, the chef remerged, two steaming plates held in his hands while balanced between his forearms was a long roll of bread dripping in butter. As Arthur attempted to figure out how he possibly could've cooked all of that in such a short time - his meals usually took upwards of four hours, and that was just KraftDinner - Roma dropped the food onto the table. "Gode di!" He said, taking his seat.

Eating with such a large group was something Arthur hadn't done since he had lived with his parents. Often their house would be filled with an assortment of odd guests, some famous, others people his parents seemed to a have picked off the street not an hour before. Matthew always hid in his room, so it was up to Arthur to be the upstanding young gentleman of the party, which usually meant listening to people talk about things he didn't care about and pretending to be interested.

After he moved out, there was never any need to have parties. He had spent most of his years at business school alone in his room, studying. Once he graduated, he had immediately started working and since he swore never to start work relationships, even friendships, he found himself eating take-out alone in his apartment, usually bent over papers. The largest group of people he had for dinner in the last five years was three, and that was Alfred, Matthew and himself, not exactly a roaring party.

But supper with the Vargas and their troop of misfits was anything but the sophisticated soirées or solo take-out nights or supper with Alfred. Everyone was talking over the everyone else, trying to make themselves heard over the clattering of plates and cutlery. Food was passed around the table at a constant rate so that someone was always grabbing a bowl, sliding food onto their plate or drizzling sauce onto their pasta. Arthur couldn't help but feel as an outsider, mumbling unheard thank-yous as he had food served to him.

Once the pasta had been shared, everyone started to eat, though this really didn't lower the level of noise, only added a whole new host of sounds. Arthur picked at this food, feeling very out-of-place within such a tightly knit group, watching Roma playfully bother Lovino while Feliciano was feeding a blushing Ludwig pasta off his own fork, chattering happily.

Arthur felt a sudden pressure along his left arm and looked round to see Francis leaning against him. "Détendre," He said, poking Arthur's cheek with a long finger, "They're not going to bite." Francis lifted off him and turned back to Antonio, listening as he gabled on about his dance career.

Filled with a small bubble of encouragement, Arthur looked to his left, noticing that Ludwig was no longer talking to Feliciano. "So," He said, raising his voice. The mechanic looked at him, blue eyes inquiring, "You… are German, yes?"

"Yes. I lived in Berlin until I was twenty, then spent another two in Vienna was two. I moved here with my cousin, uncle and brother last year. It's a nice city." Ludwig said, casting a sideway glance to the small Italian beside him. Feliciano was chatting to Roma, waving his arms around in earnest while Lovino was shaking his head and Roma was laughing.

"He's not really their grandfather," Arthur asked, leaning close to Ludwig and lowering his voice conspiratorially, "Is he?" Just as these words left his mouth, he realized that he couldn't have said anything more brutish. It wasn't his job to pry and asking the German who seemed to fancy the Italian wasn't exactly the most intelligent of things to say.

"No," Ludwig said blue eyes flicking to Feliciano, "Roma is their guardian. He has taken care of the boys since their parents died. He isn't related by blood, but has known the Vargas since they were children and was very good friends with their parents." And, before Arthur could ask any more questions, Ludwig began to eat, making sure to not open himself to the Brit in anyway.

Arthur was just glad that he still had his head. The rest of the supper he spent in silence, eating the pasta and listening on the occasional conversation, adding in a word or two every so often. After an hour and numerous helpings, everyone was finally done. The talking had died down and now the men were sitting back in their chairs, slightly dazed smiles on their faces.

"Do you have any wine?" Arthur asked, pushing away his plate and rubbing his belly contentedly. A simple Chianti would finish off this night perfectly. Beside him, Francis sat up, looking interested at the mention of the drink.

"Nope, fresh out, won't be expecting any for the next week and a bit." Roma said, getting to his feet and beginning to gather the plates, tucking them under his arm. Feliciano and Lovino also helped, the older bickering at younger one, telling him to not drop any plates like every other time.

The Brit's face fell. "Do you not have delivery out here?" He asked, unable to keep a sharp edge out of his voice.

"The man I usually get it from, his uncle," He said, giving Ludwig a good-natured cuff over his head, "Hates me at the moment so I'm dry. But it's alright, not many people drink it." Roma moved into the back where they could here the dishes clatter into a large sink. They listened as Lovino started yelling and Feliciano could be heard laughing, telling his brother to look at all the bubbles.

"What about trifle?" Arthur called after him, slightly desperate. The three men reappeared, Lovino poking Feliciano's forehead, while the younger brother held a bubble in his hand, hurrying over and showing it the German.

When Ludwig leaned over the small hands but the bubble popped. Feliciano's smile fell slightly and the mechanic's stoic face twitched. Ludwig got to his feet, went to the kitchen and emerged with another bubble supported in his calloused hands. Ludwig passed the bubble carefully over to the Italian, muttering an apology. Smiling, Feliciano leaned forward and kissed the bubble making it pop. "Grazie." He said. As Ludwig took his seat, Arthur couldn't help but notice the pale cheeks flushed a light pink.

"I haven't ever made trifle." Roma said, who had been watching the exchange with an amused look, "I have tiramisù though."

Arthur frowned. "I've never had it."

There was sudden silence. Antonio stopped bothering Lovino, who had actually fallen quiet. Feliciano's smile turned into an 'o' of disbelief while Ludwig looked simply bewildered. Thinking there was probably something he was missing, Arthur cast a questioning look at Francis, who was grinning at him.

"You've never had tiramisù?" Feliciano asked, usually closed eyes wide and staring. "B-but…"

Roma was already on his feet, opening the small dessert fridge and pulling out a large pan, using a knife to cut out a square and sliding onto a plate before placing it delicately in front of Arthur. The guest leaned forward sniffling it interestedly. "Kahlúa?" He asked, poking the square with his fork. The Roman nodded, taking a step away and folding his arms over his chest. Stabbing into the dessert, Arthur lifted it to his mouth, smelling it again. Chocolaty, definitely some coffee and the scent of liquor was even stronger up close.

The eyes of the entire group were on him, each looking intently at the piece wobbling on his fork. Opening his mouth, he slipped the fork inside, clamping his teeth down.

"And?" Roma asked, trembling with anticipation.

Arthur pulled the utensil out of his mouth, the tiniest of smiles on his face. "It's good." He said quietly, taking another forkful. The table visibly relaxed and Arthur was allowed to finish his dessert nearly unbothered. Nearly, save for the moment when Francis' reached over, dipping his finger into the tiramisù. Before Arthur could protest, Francis had already slipped his forefinger between his lips, keeping his eyes trained on the Englishman's. His felt his jaw slowly unhinge as Francis' tongue flicked out, liking the last speck off his nail.

Even after the walk home, Arthur was sure his cheeks were still burning. Back at the hostel, Antonio, Lovino and Ludwig bid them goodnight while Feliciano plopped down beside the desk, explaining it was his turn to stay up. "Could I borrow your phone? I need to call my…" -ex-boyfriend and beg him to take me back-, "My brother." Feliciano nodded, passing him the phone from under the desk. Beside him, Francis sidled up to the counter, clearly hoping to listen in.

Arthur took the phone and stalked away from the two, turning his back to them and dialling the number. The phone rang, but Arthur knew his brother wasn't going to pick up. Cell service did not fare well in the northern Canadian Shield. "Hi, this is Matthew!" Arthur sighed, shaking his head, "I'm sorry I can't come to the phone, but if you leave your name and number I'll get back to you right away, eh?" Only Matthew could make a voicemail message sound so comforting.

"Matthew, I hope you get this message and haven't died frozen in an glacier. I'm stuck in Rome, it's a long story, and I really need some help at the moment." He lowered his voice, looking over is shoulder, making sure Francis and Feliciano were still chatting, "Alfred's broken our engagement… I think he's sleeping with someone else. I really need some help Matt, call me soon." He left the number of the hostel and ended the call, sighing heavily.

He walked back over to the desk and passed over the phone, muttering a thank you to Feliciano. The Italian quirked his head, warm eyes searching Arthur's. "You look terrible… You should get some sleep," He began to shepherd the pair away from the lobby towards the stairs, "Buona notte." He said, giving them both a small wave and returning to his post.

As they climbed, Francis stopped suddenly on the stairs, Arthur bumping into him. "Who's Alfred?" He said abruptly, folding his arms and watching Arthur sternly.

A look of shock passed over Arthur's features before being replaced by quiet rage. He tried to push by, but Francis' filled the narrow staircase, blocking him. "None of your goddamn business." He said, not quite meeting the Frenchman's eye.

Reaching out a hand, Francis grabbed Arthur's shoulder. "As your roommate and new acquaintance, it is my business, Sourcils." He said, giving Arthur's shoulder a comforting squeeze.

"My ex-fiancé, okay?" Arthur smacked the hand away and shouldered past Francis, who let him pass. He moved passed their room and headed for the bathroom, making sure to lock the door behind him. Sighing, he gripped the edges of the sink, trying to steady himself. He knew that Alfred wasn't going to be easy to get over, but not this hard. Turning on the water, he splashed some on his face, the cool water helping to steady him. After shaking wet hair out of his eyes and sitting on the floor for a minute, allowing a brief bout of self-pity, he stepped out of the bathroom and went down the hall back to his room.

Opening the door, his eyes travelled over the modest accommodations, from the French doors leading to the balcony, to the naked man, to his own bed, which looked so inviting at the moment. And then his focused back on the naked man. "F-francis!?" He said, hang flying to his mouth and his cheeks flushing a bright red, "What the hell are you doing!?"

At least he was turned away from door. "I sleep in the nude," he explained, running a hand along his leg, in a much-too suggestive way, "Is there's a problem with that, Sourcils?"

Attempting to regain some semblance of sanity to the situation, Arthur immediately resorting to a furious disposition. It wasn't the best thing, - indeed, a tall Frenchman sitting on a bed, stark naked wasn't something you'd usually get angry about (no wait, bad Arthur, you're recovering from a relationship, not good time to start something new) - but he wasn't feeling very emotionally stable at the moment and anger seemed to be the only answer. "You will sleep with pants on or I will strangle you in your sleep." Violence. He severely hoped Francis wasn't going to interpret is as suppressed want. (how did his legs look so good…)

"Perhaps you will change your mind if you spend the night with me~" He said, smiling coyly and winking. (okay, not... oh dear god, I hope I'm not drooling) Francis slowly began to turn, but Arthur squeaked, turning his back and staring at the door. His fists clenched at his sides as he tried to centre himself. (don't look Arthur. For the sake of the Queen and God himself don't even fucking look)

"Let's get one thing straight." He said, casting a quick look over his shoulder, making sure Francis was still turned away, (fucking Frenchman. Fuck them and their nice asses) "I am not some whore you picked up off the street. I have a very high paying job and just happen to be in a bit of a bind at the moment. You just happened to appear at the right time. Believe you me; this would never happen if the circumstances weren't so sodding bizarre. Got it?" And, doing his best not to let his gaze wander, he made a straight path to his bed, slipped under the covers fully-dressed and made sure to keep his back turned to Francis. He closing his eyes, his pulled the sheets over his head and waiting until sleep came to him.

Author's Note

*_____* So many superb reviews! You guys are brilliant and wonderful and I love you all! Thank you very much :D And dude, was that bubble scene random or what?

andipromisemoreturtleneckloves