An: The Nordics are my fav, so, yanno, I can't help myself but have them in this story.
Please see the end of this chapter for an important author note!

The boys were in bed and Arthur was relaxing in an armchair, glass of wine in his hand.

"That was bloody delicious," he sighed, lolling his head to the side so he could look at Francis sitting on the sofa nearby. one leg elegantly crossed over the other. Francis raised his glass in thanks, then took a sip. He said nothing, but his eyes were sparkling as he watched Arthur. He felt heat coil in his belly and was unsure if it was the alcohol he had consumed or something else, something caused by Francis himself. He was a terribly pretty man. Long, golden lashes framing blue eyes that seemed to perpetually shine with mischief. His long hair looked so soft, like it wouldn't tangle if you were to comb your fingers through it, instead it would glide between your fingers like reams of silk. He was wearing one of Arthur's shirts, his own in the wash after Alfred got his blood all over it, and it was slightly too small for him. The buttons were straining against his chest swollen with muscle Arthur had no idea he had. It was hard not to stare, the top button loose and inviting his eyes to travel down his body.

Arthur shook his head, clearing the thoughts away. That was not an avenue of thought he needed to take with the last of the wine in his glass and the subject sitting only a few feet away. Clearly, he had had too much to drink.

He let his eyes flutter shut and instead enjoyed the silence. Francis had convinced the boys to go to bed without much fuss and they had long ago fallen silent, finally falling asleep. He felt himself start to drift into a doze.

"Mmm, I need to clean the kitchen," he forced himself to speak, the words coming up from his chest and requiring entirely too much effort. He hadn't felt this tired since, well, since yesterday evening.

"Nonsense, chérie, I will take care of it." He didn't open his eyes, but he heard the shuffle of fabric and the creak of the sofa as Francis got to his feet.

"You made dinner, frog. Just leave it, I can always do it in the morning." He hated the idea of waking to a mess in the kitchen, but he was feeling much too mellow to care about that right now. "Sit back down and enjoy this blissful silence with me."

"I think you have had too much to drink," he did snap his eyes open when he felt the warm breath rolling across his jaw when the words were spoken. Francis was leaning over him, one hand on his hip, the other on the back of the armchair in which Arthur was sitting. He was so close Arthur could have counted his eyelashes. He gripped the wineglass in his hand tighter before bringing it to his lips, it barely fit in the space between them, and he tipped it back, emptying the remaining contents into his mouth. He swallowed and smiled, handing the glass to Francis who arched a brow at him.

"I think you are entirely correct," he said, the alcohol in his system causing him to have an almost unbearable urge to tilt his chin up and steal those smirking, French lips with a kiss. It would have been that easy, he just had to shift his weight and their mouths would have collided together, had Francis not pulled away and wandered towards the kitchen.

Arthur did doze, then, only stirring when there was a clank of dishes knocking together as Francis put the kitchen back into order. It felt like only a minute went by when silence descended on the house once again and then warm hands were tugging at his shoulders.

"Come, Arthur, let's get you to bed," he hummed in agreement and let himself be hauled to his feet and steered towards the stairs. He didn't remember getting into his room, only that he flopped into the comfort of his bed and Francis was over him, unbuttoning his shirt.

"At least buy me dinner first," he chuckled.

"I did make you dinner," Francis drew his eyebrows together and paused to watch Arthur's face before he continued in his task. "What do you wear to bed?" Arthur didn't respond, instead he wiggled deeper into his pillows, Francis' fingers on his abdomen tickling him. He sighed happily as his shirt was tugged free, his blankets soft and cozy on his bare skin. "You are so troublesome," the Frenchman's voice sounded far away, "bonne nuit, Arthur." He heard his bedroom door click shut just before he fell into a deep, comfortable sleep.

Arthur woke the next morning with a splitting headache. He could hear the boys trying to play quietly in their room, which he was thankful for. He took a few minutes to wake up, to convince himself to leave the comfort of his bed, before he finally sat up.

The first thing he noticed, aside from the pain throbbing in his skull, was the fact that he was not wearing a shirt. The second thing he checked was to make sure he still had on pants – he did, the very same from the previous night. He heaved a sigh of relief – disappointment? He couldn't decide. It was too early to have conflicting thoughts, especially without caffeine.

He stretched his aching limbs and padded out of his room, making sure to be quiet so the boys didn't hear him awake just yet, hopefully he could snag a few extra minutes of quiet before they came roaring into the kitchen after him.

Francis was nowhere to be found, but there was a note scrawled in curly handwriting left on the kitchen table:

'I walked home, ma petite ami. I will come by later today to pick up my car. FB'

At least he got home safe, or at the very least didn't drive after their shared bottle of wine.

.

Francis awoke feeling rather pleased with himself.

Despite the mess he walked into when he arrived at Arthur's, the evening itself had gone quite well – at least, he thought it did. He never thought he'd see the day when Arthur was pleasant to him without being coerced – and that was before his second glass of wine!

He was adorable when flushed, his words only barely slurring together, his British accent coming in a lot more thick. He smiled more freely when mellow and Francis had been surprised by how quickly his heart raced away when his face split into an easy grin. He was quite lovely.

On his walk home he realized he could no longer hide from himself – he had developed a bit of a crush on his office-mate. He evoked a passion in him with their arguments which made his day so much more colourful. Their civil conversations during office hours often made Francis think about things and situations he may not have previously considered; he found himself with many more opinions on subjects he never knew he felt so strongly about. Arthur was shaping him into a new and better man. Not to mention how adorable he was when he got angry, the way his green eyes would flash in pure rage, stuttering as he tried to conjure up a sufficient come-back to some witticism Francis had thrown his way. He loved stirring him up, it gave him no greater joy than to see him look so lively.

It had taken every fiber in his being not to kiss him when he had been so close. He almost had, before he realized that, with Arthur, he wanted to woo him the right way, and kissing him while inebriated was not the right direction. Even though he looked as if he wanted it. And again in his bedroom-

He groaned, rubbing a hand down his face.

He decided to have a shower.

.

When Francis finally decided to go back to Arthur's to fetch his car, he was surprised to see a dark, four-door sedan parked in the drive. He sauntered up to the house and was about to knock when the door swung inwards and Lukas greeted him with a cool stare.

"Bonnefoy," he said, stepping aside to let him into the house. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"My car is out front," he said, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder in its direction parked on the side of the road. Lukas only shrugged.

"Uncle Lukas!" a small voice cried from inside the house and Francis was overcome with such a strong feeling of jealousy and rage it nearly knocked the wind out of him. Uncle Lukas. He had almost forgotten.

He liked Lukas, he was a good man. They had shared a coffee and discussed writing a handful of times, they were on agreeable terms, despite Francis attempting to woo him and being consistently turned down. He thought Lukas was fascinating, albeit a bit weird at times, and he always had interesting things to say once you got him talking. However, this afternoon, standing in the entryway to Arthur's house with Arthur's nephews calling him by a term of endearment, he desired only to punch him square in the face.

Lukas turned and disappeared into the house and left Francis standing in the doorway. He eventually removed his shoes and followed into the kitchen where he found Alfred and Matthew colouring at the kitchen table.

"Mr. Francis!" Matthew cried happily, waving his marker-covered hands in enthusiasm.

"Uncle Art told us to thank you for dinner last night when you came by," said Alfred, "it was very yummy."

"You were here last night?" Lukas raised an eyebrow, Francis chose to ignore him.

"Is your Uncle Artie not at home?" Both boys shook their head, Matthew quietly informed him that he had gone shopping, Alfred added that he should be coming home soon. Francis could feel Lukas staring at him.

"You just came for your car, right?" Francis was forced to acknowledge Lukas and he felt rather bitter about it.

"Oui," he strained a smile, "I did, but then I was thinking of hanging around and helping with dinner again."

"Oh, there is no need. I am here."

"So you are, but, perhaps you would like a break? I have heard you've been over almost every night since the boys have come to stay here."

"It's no trouble," Lukas shrugged, "I've quite enjoyed the company."

Just then the front door opened and closed and Arthur's voice trailed into the kitchen, "Lukas, boys? I'm home! Oh, Francis! You're here, too!" Arthur appeared in the kitchen, arms laden with groceries. Both Francis and Lukas reached out to help him, pausing with their hands outstretched to give each other a meaningful look, before both took a bag from Arthur's arms, who didn't seem to notice. "You got home alright last night, then?" he asked Francis.

"Oui, it was a pleasant walk," he could feel Lukas staring at him again, so he offered a shrug and a smirk, "we both drank a little too much wine last night," he said, a little too smugly. Lukas rolled his eyes and nodded, returning his attention to the groceries he was putting away.

"Are you staying for dinner tonight, Lukas?" Arthur asked absently.

"Ah, yes, I was thinking of it," he glanced back at Francis, his normally stoic expression seeming almost confused, eyebrows drawn together, "actually, Arthur, I have to admit, besides helping watch the boys while you run errands, I have an ulterior motive to being here."

"Aha!" Francis whipped around and pointed an accusing finger at him. Arthur and Lukas both gave him a funny look, neither having the opportunity to respond before there was a knock at the front door.

"That will be it," Lukas said, trailing out of the kitchen, Arthur following close behind, Francis taking up the rear out of sheer curiosity. Also, he didn't want to leave the two of them alone. When he rounded the corner to the entryway, the door was already open revealing two men Francis immediately recognized from the art department at work: the hulking and silent Berwald, and the bouncing, grinning Matthias. "Arthur," Lukas began to explain, "I was thinking Berwald could take a look at your car for you, since you still haven't taken it into a shop."

"Oh, bloody hell, really? That would be brilliant!" Arthur reached a hand forward and warmly took a hold of Berwald's, shaking it.

"Matthias just returned from a business trip and requested to tag along," Arthur shook his hand as well. "Actually," Lukas turned to Francis, his eyebrows drawn again, a perplexed expression on his face, "Francis, have you met Matthias?"

"We have run into each other at work once or twice," he smiled at the artist who grinned happily at him, saluting.

"Ah," Lukas cleared his throat, "in that case, you would be aware that Matthias is my partner?" He stressed the last word, eyes boring into Francis' with such intensity he felt his cheeks heat up. Partner? As in... significant other? He dared not ask and did his best to cover up the shock he felt seeping into his eyes and slackened jaw. He shook his head, not trusting his voice to respond.

"Thank you for letting him hang around so much while I was away, Arthur," Matthias said, laughing and scratching the back of his head, "it was nice knowing he wasn't spending too much time alone without me." Arthur, Lukas, and Matthias continued to chat happily before Berwald gruffly reminded them the reason of their visit and they all filed outside in order to stand around Arthur's car.

Francis' head was reeling.

If Lukas had a partner, a romantic partner, and that partner was Matthias from the office... then he wasn't really after Arthur. Unless Arthur was his side-guy – which seemed unlikely. Especially for someone like Arthur, who only ever seemed to play by the rules. Had he misinterpreted all of Lukas' would-be advances towards Arthur?

He was not often the jealous type, and he almost refused to believe he had slipped into such a bad habit. And yet, the evidence was undeniable.

At the very least, Lukas having a partner explained why he had resisted Francis' earlier flirtations. Had he been single he would have easily fallen for his charismatic charms.

Francis did not stay for dinner; instead, he excused himself so he could go home and quietly think. He needed to straighten out his feelings, and likely form some sort of apology for Lukas when he saw him at work on Monday. He also still owed him coffee for looking after the boys that first day. He also needed to consider what he was going to do about this new Arthur situation – would he pursue it further, or leave it be? There were so many good questions that needed answering, and he couldn't do that while in Arthur's house.

.

"Uncle Artie," Mattie asked sleepily as Arthur tucked the blankets around his small form, "I like your new boyfriend." Arthur froze.

"Pardon me?"

"I like your new boyfriend," Matthew repeated through a yawn.

"Pet, what makes you think I have a boyfriend?"

"That's what Mr. Francis called you."

"He... what? When?"

"Last night at dinner, he said 'ma petite ami'!"

"You can speak French? And what does that mean?" He thought it had simply been one of the usual Frenchy nicknames that Francis called everybody.

"He called you his boyfriend," Mattie repeated, starting to sound annoyed that Arthur wasn't grasping the simplicity of his statement.

"Right," he dropped a kiss on Mattie's head and tried not to over-think it. "Never you mind about that, pet, just go to sleep. We can talk more in the morning."

Francis was going to get a piece of his mind.

AN: I am away on holidays! Which is why this chapter is so short. I tried to write more, but I simply ran out of time!

If you follow Dr. O or Paging Doctors, I didn't want to rush their chapters and will be uploading only an author note for the time being.

You can look forward to your regular chapter length and scheduled updates next weekend! June 13!