Arthur woke up with no memory of the night before, an awful taste in his mouth, a tingle in his head that he knew from experience would explode upon the first movement his head made, and something soft, warm, and very pleasant. Getting up would be a bad idea, and so was opening his eyes, considering the light streaming in through the window, and so he snuggled closer to whatever was keeping him warm.

Something was on top of him, causing a comfortable pressure that convinced Arthur even more that staying in bed was a good idea. He sighed contently. That had been the best night sleep he'd had in a long time, although the alcohol he could vaguely recall consuming the night before probably played some part in that. He could feel the tingle in his head intensify, and he decided that some more sleep was in order.

The warmth shifted. Arthur froze. What had he been using to keep cosy? He inched his eyes open, and saw a bleary shape. He blinked a few times to clear his vision of sleep. Half-lidded, deep blue eyes smiled at him.

"Bonjour, Arthur."

"Francis? What are y- ARGH!" When Arthur sat up in shock (which also knocked Francis arm from him), the tingling in his head immediately erupted into the inevitable, awful headache that haunts a person after a night of heavy drinking. Or a pint of ale, in Arthur's unfortunate case…

Arthur lay back down on the bed with his eyes closed tightly. "Francis," he groaned. "Why were we in bed together?"

"You said we should sleep together," Francis yawned. Arthur felt the bed shift, and he squinted his eyes so he could see what was going on. Francis had sat up, and was stretching his arms. Arthur had a brilliant view of the muscular chest and arms, which made him wonder.

"Sleep together?" He asked groggily. Francis looked down at him with a smile, and nodded. Arthur raised an eyebrow, and peeked under the covers. Well. It would appear that both of them were topless. Arthur gulped, and then winced; his throat was so dry.

He looked under the covers again, and was relieved to see that he had boxers on. He rested his head on the pillow, and closed his eyes. He barely noticed Francis leaving the room. In fact, he was almost drifting off to sleep again when a delicious aroma permeated his nose. He sat up gingerly to see Francis, wearing nothing but the white trousers he had worn the night before, carrying a tray. Upon the tray was an omelette, some cutlery, a glass of water and a cup of tea. Arthur gave him a curious look.

"Breakfast," Francis explained. His hair was tied back with a red ribbon, with a few golden strands left loose at the sides of his face. "If you are ill, you should probably eat. I'm afraid this was all I could make with what you had." Arthur tentatively sat up, and Francis set the tray on his lap. The food smelled mouth-wateringly good. Before he could reach for his cutlery, Francis slipped a small white tablet into his hand.

"I found these in one of the kitchen cupboards; it will help your head." Arthur looked at the pill, and then at Francis.

"Th-thanks," he said gratefully, and popped the bitter pill into his mouth before washing it away with the water. "What about your breakfast?" Arthur asked.

"I ate already," Francis smiled. "I thought that since you were British, you wouldn't like an omelette that was only half cooked." Arthur smirked.

"You'd be right." He cut a bit of the omelette, and put it in his mouth.

It almost melted the second it touched his tongue. He almost didn't want to swallow it, until he remembered that there was a whole plate of the heavenly dish right in front of him.

Francis watched in silent amusement as Arthur wolfed down his breakfast as if he hadn't eaten in days. Although, considering the state the kitchen had been in after Arthur's attempt to cook last night, that was entirely plausible.

The omelette soon disappeared. "Wow. You really are French, aren't you?" Arthur smiled. Francis liked that smile; maybe he should cook more often. Arthur lifted the teacup to his lips, and sipped the searing hot liquid with a contented hum. "How did you know how I like my tea?" He wondered aloud.

"I guessed. No sugar and a splash of milk seemed very you." Arthur nodded and drank some more of his tea, already feeling better. Better enough to notice that Francis was watching him intently. "Why are you staring?" He frowned. Francis made no attempt to hide that he was looking at him, and didn't even stop.

"Because I like you," he said in a matter-of-fact way. "And you're quite nice to look at." Arthur's face went a light shade of pink. That was rather cute too…

"Don't say silly things," Arthur scolded. Francis didn't reply, and continued to watch as Arthur finished his tea, and set his tray to the side.

Francis picked up his shirt from the floor, and slid his arms into the sleeves. He pulled the ribbon from his hair, and shook his head. He looked behind him to see Arthur quickly averting his eyes, and blushing again. Francis grinned.

"Why am I not allowed to look at you if you can look at me?" He asked, holding back a chuckle when Arthur's blush intensified.

"I- It's not like that! I wasn't looking at you that way! I was just… Is that the only clothes you have?"

Francis looked down at his shirt and trousers, and nodded. "Well, we'll have to get you some new clothes. We can do that today."

Francis waited in the living room while Arthur had a shower. He'd been told he could watch television while he waited, but he didn't know what that was, so that suggestion was out the window. Suddenly, there was a rattling noise coming from the door, and some pieces of paper fell through a hole. Francis approached them cautiously, and picked them up. 'Arthur Kirkland', 'Mr A Kirkland', 'To the Occupant'. Francis realised that Kirkland must be Arthur's surname, and then wondered whether or not he had a surname. He placed the letters on a small table before picking up one of the slips of paper that had come in the package containing him.

'Unit No. U6K78A6FB Unit Name. Francis Bonnefoy'

Francis Bonnefoy? It sounded rather nice. He hoped Arthur would like it. He quite liked Arthur's name. Arthur Kirkland. It sounded like a proud name. Francis sat back down on the sofa, and looked around the room until something caught his eye. He stood, and went to the bookcase.

He ran a slender finger down the spine of one of the books, and then along a few others. He pulled one out and took it to the sofa to begin reading.

Arthur came down the stairs around ten minutes later, fully dressed and ready to go.

"Hey, what are you reading?" He asked. Francis glanced up at him.

"Your book." He went back to reading. Arthur looked at him in confusion.

"What do you mean?" Francis didn't look up this time; he was engrossed in the novel

"The book that has your name on it. Some things came through the door, and they said 'Arthur Kirkland', and this book says 'Arthur Kirkland' on the front, so it must be your book." He suddenly looked up. "Did you write this?" He asked, with wonder in his voice. Arthur bit his lower lip nervously, but nodded. Francis beamed at him.

"I love it! Did you write the others with your name on them?" Arthur nodded again. "I want to read all of them!" Arthur smiled shyly.

"They aren't that good, really," he mumbled. Francis shook his head.

"It's wonderful."

Arthur lived near the shore of a coastal town, and his home was just a 15 minute walk to the town centre. Francis spent the journey looking in wonder at the houses and buildings, and waving cheerfully at everyone they saw, which lead to lots of giggle teenage girls and women, awkward waves from men, and a very embarrassed Arthur, who had quickly given up on telling Francis not to greet everyone so enthusiastically.

They soon arrived at the high street, and Arthur led Francis into a large clothing store. They were approaching the escalator which lead to the men's clothing department, when Francis paused, and looked at the moving staircase suspiciously.

"What's wrong?" Arthur asked. Francis kept staring at the escalator.

"How does that work? Do I keep walking up it like a normal staircase?" Arthur shook his head in amusement.

"No. You just walk onto it, and stay still. It takes you to the top. Watch." Arthur stepped onto the escalator, and Francis was in awe as it carried him to the next level. Eagerly, he hopped onto the escalator, and looked over his shoulder to see the woman's shoes department disappear.

Suddenly, he stumbled off the escalator, and Arthur tutted. "You have to pay attention, idiot."

After picking out a reasonable assortment of clothes, Arthur found himself waiting outside a changing room so Francis could try on some of them on before buying them. The cubicle lock clicked open, and Arthur looked up to see Francis in a pair of light blue jeans, and-

"Bloody hell! You have to fasten the shirt before you come out, you stupid git!" Arthur scolded in a hushed tone. He quickly got to his feet and started to button up the dark red shirt.

"Excuse me, sirs?" Arthur turned round to see a sales assistant looking at them worriedly. "Is everything alright?"

"Um, yes," Arthur assured her. "My friend forgot to button his shirt, just a slight wardrobe malfunction." She nodded at him, giving Francis an admiring look.

"It looks very nice on you sir," she complemented before returning to her post. Arthur watched her leave with a frown which he couldn't explain.

Once the clothes were paid for, they started to walk home, carrying a large bag each. Francis stopped outside the supermarket, and looked at the large posters declaring loudly that all herbs were half price, and that there was 25% off fruit and vegetables.

"Arthur?" He called. Arthur turned to look at him. "I'm sorry I embarrassed you in the clothes shop. Could we buy some things so I can make you dinner" Arthur considered it, and supposed that whatever Francis made would be better than any attempt by himself.

"Alright then," he smiled.

They sat at the small dining table that night to a delicious meal of ratatouille niçoise. While Arthur cleaned the dishes, he finally plucked up the courage to ask Francis something that had been bothering him all day.

"Francis? You knew you should have fastened your shirt earlier." Francis looked at him curiously.

"And?" He asked. Arthur scowled at him.

"Why did you do it?" Francis shrugged.

"You're cute when you blush." Despite himself, Arthur could feel said blush arising on his face, making Francis smile fondly.

"So, why did you cook me dinner?" Francis smile grew to a grin. He stood in front of Arthur, so close that the smaller man could feel the heat radiating from the mechanics in the androids body. Francis placed a hand on Arthurs cheek, caressing it.

"Because, mon cher," he breathed. "You are beautiful when you smile."