A/N: Hi there. I hope you are enjoying this story!-Scottie :D
The rest of the day trundled by slowly. I was exhausted by the biology test we had second period. By the time our last period ended, I was on the brink of death. I was anything but in the mood to see Francis, so I walked home slowly. Aimlessly, I kicked a stone that I found on the pavement, trying to keep my mind off of what Francis had said to me earlier. I blushed madly and furiously kicked the stone into the road, extremely annoyed.
My keys jingled when I pulled them out of my pocket, as I arrived at my apartment. I pulled down on the door handle. It was open. I gulped. Thoughts of robberies or thieves came rushing to my head. I sighed with relief when I remembered that Francis had moved in. But, to be honest, I didn't feel entirely safe. I didn't know if Francis was going to pounce on me at any moment. Hesitating, I opened to front door fully. A sudden waft of mixed herbs and spices drifted toward me from the kitchen. It had been a while since I had last smelt something so good. I carefully slipped off my shoes and cautiously tip toed to the kitchen. I didn't enter immediately, instead I leant against the corridor wall and peered through the ajar door. There, in front of the stove was a tall man, with blond hair, neatly pulled back into a pony tail. The man, who was presumably Francis, was wearing a white apron. The figure turned around to grab something on the table. I cursed and frantically scrambled away from the door, hoping that Francis wouldn't see me. I heard a deep chuckle that made my heart jump ever so slightly.
"Quiet as a mouse, you are, Arthur," I sighed and slumped down onto the floor outside of the kitchen. Shit. I had been found out. "You can come out of your hiding place now, I know you're there,"
A few seconds later I surrendered and sluggishly walked into the kitchen, avoid Francis' gaze. Francis smiled. "You don't cook often do you?" He said, stirring whatever was in the pot to his left.
"How d'ya know?," I grumbled. Francis chuckled at my stroppy behaviour. Instead of telling me what the problem was, he picked up a packet of some green leaves and showed me the back of the packaging. "What's your point, frog face?" I snorted. Francis frowned at my insult, instantly making me feel guilty.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realise that you couldn't see that the expiration date was out by 2 years, due to your thick caterpillar eyebrows," Francis spat back. I had to step back I was so shocked. He had to insult my weakness. My jaw dropped and my eyebrows kitted together in surprise. Francis smiled and hummed as he saw my reaction. "Little tip for you, . Don't pick fights, you cannot win." He said, ruffling my hair, grinning innocently. I instinctively swatted his hand away, and gritted my teeth. Francis shrugged and returned to stirring his pot. My anger had reached the boiling point and there was nothing that would stop this pot from overflowing.
"At least I'm not so feminine that I look good in an apron!," I half yelled. Francis stopped stirring and he gradually turned his head around to face me. Then a devious smirk appeared on his perfectly chiselled face. As he raised a suggestive eyebrow, I realised what I had just said.
"What was that you said, Arthur?" He hummed.
My face flushed an attractive shade of crimson and I cursed under my breath. I shyly looked up at Francis through my long fringe. "D-Don't go assuming things!" I shouted storming out of the kitchen, running to my bedroom and slamming the door shut. I hid underneath my covers and cringed from embarrassment.
It took me a few minutes for me to calm down properly, but I was still sulking to myself. I heard the bedroom door open, something slide in, and the door closing again. Cautiously pulling the bed sheets off of me I looked at what was making the noise. There, at the front of my room was a plate of spaghetti. I huffed, turning away from the plate, but my stomach rumbled as if contradicting my decision. I got out of my bed and crouched in front of the plate, examining it. I didn't trust Francis just yet, he may have slipped something into the sauce. But it honestly to so delicious. The tomato sauce looked lovely and thick, with a sprinkling of basil on the top. The door creaked open slightly again, this time a hand slipped through, leaving something wrapped in a napkin. The elegant, slim hand quickly retreated and the door was closed once again. In the napkin I found a set of cutlery and some kind of small cake in plastic wrapping. I couldn't help myself when a smile spread across my cheeks, but I kept my affection to myself.
Maybe Francis wasn't that bad after all.