The next morning, Francis decided not to wake Arthur. He sat at the dining table, with a plate of freshly made pancakes and a cup of that 'Earl Grey' stuff that Arthur was so fond of, and he made sure that the kettle was boiled and more pancakes were being prepared for Arthur once he was ready. He let his memory trail over last night. He thought over Antonio's promise to him, and smiled; he hoped that the rest of the Bad Touch Trio could help him with Arthur.

Said Brit descended the stairs at around 11 o clock in his pyjamas, with messy hair and sleep filled eyes, which brightened up at the sight of another amazing breakfast, courtesy of Francis. He buttered his still warm pancakes, and spread jam over the top, biting into it, and savouring the fluffy texture with a face that made Francis heart – or whatever kept him running – swell up.

"What are we doing today, Arthur." 'The same thing we do every night, Francis,' Arthur thought to himself. 'Try to take over the world!' Arthur chuckled to himself, causing Francis to give him a confused look. He cleared his throat, wiping the childhood nostalgia from his mind.

"Well, I have to work on my newest novel, before the publisher starts complaining, so, um, what would you like to do?" Francis thought for a moment, before coming to a decision.

"Can I read your books?" He smiled.

"Of course."

Francis spent the rest of the morning and afternoon reading, while Arthur sat at his desk in front of the window, staring out at the ocean. All was silent in the house, except for the turning of delicate pages, and the occasional clacking noises, which signalled a burst of activity from Arthur's keyboard when inspiration struck him.

Francis was being drawn into the book he held in his hands. It was titled, 'To the Sunshine in my Heart,' and it told the story of a young woman who fell in love with a man who arrived on a boat with the rising sun. It wasn't just the story that pulled Francis in; the descriptions of everything was so vivid. He could almost smell the salty sea air, see Alice's long, auburn hair, taste the sweetness of their first kiss…

He tore his eyes from the book for the first time since he had picked it up several hours ago, and laid his gaze upon Arthur. The man was looking out of the window again, as if he wasn't even on this earth. Francis' eyes traced his delicate profile, his messy, ruffled, dirty blond hair, his thick brows, and those beautiful, shining green eyes, which stared off to space with not a care in the world. How would it be to kiss him properly? To feel those soft, pink lips on his? Arthur's eyes shifted, and locked with Francis'.

"What's wrong?" Arthur asked. Francis shook his head.

"Nothing. You just write so beautifully, but it isn't that surprising." Arthur's brows furrowed in confusion, but he quickly straightened them out when he saw Francis smiling at them. Alfred used to tease him about his eyebrows; little did he know that Francis found them endearing.

"Why isn't it surprising?"

"Because, you're perfect in every other way." Arthur scoffed.

"Didn't I tell you not to say stupid things?" Francis shrugged.

"I'm not being stupid," he smiled. There was that sweet blush that he loved so much. Francis put the book on the arm of the recliner he'd been sitting on, and stood up. "I'm going to make dinner."

Arthur nodded. Once Francis was in the kitchen, he swallowed the lump in his throat. Did Francis really feel that way about him? 'Of course he does,' a small voice cried. 'He was made to love you, you stupid git!' Arthur looked behind him, to make sure Francis was busy, and he unlocked the drawer in his desk. He quietly opened it, and took out a stuffed, green, winged rabbit toy. He'd had the Flying Mint Bunny for as long as he could remember, and although he knew it was childish, he liked to keep it around for comfort.

He couldn't possibly like Francis like that, he thought. It was silly. Francis was a robot, and to love a robot was completely irrational. He stroked the Flying Mint Bunny as he read over what he had written with a sigh. Everything he had tried writing in the past couple of months had been dreadful, and so far from his normal standards.

Of course it was awful; Alfred had been his muse.

During his reading and rereading of the prologue, there were a few short raps on the door, followed by the doorbell being rang. Arthur closed the bunny away in her drawer, and answered the door.

"Oh, hello Antonio," Arthur exclaimed, surprised by the olive skinned man's appearance. "What can I do for you?"

"Hey, amigo! I was just making sure you were okay after last night," Antonio laughed. Arthur grimaced at him.

"Yes, I've recovered rather well, thank you very much," he replied shortly. "Will that be all?" Antonio shook his head.

"I was wondering if I co-" He cut his question short, and his nose began to twitch a little. "Arthur! Have you learned to cook like a normal person?" He cheered, causing Arthur to look rather affronted.

"That's not me, you git! It's Francis." Antonio's eyes were on the kitchen door.

"Francis? Is he good?" Arthur shrugged.

"He's French, remember?" Antonio nodded fervently.

"Um, could I come in and talk to him please?" Arthur sighed, but nodded and stepped aside to let Antonio in.

Arthur opened the kitchen door.

"Francis, you have a guest," he called. Francis looked up from the bubbling pot, and grinned when he saw Antonio.

"Hi, Toni!"

"Hey, Francis!" Antonio greeted him. "What're ya cooking?" He asked.

"Lasagne," he smiled. Antonio's face lit up.

"Really? Hey, how did you make that sauce?" Francis looked back to the pot he was stirring.

"Well, I boiled some tomatoes, and-"

"W-wait, you used fresh tomatoes?" Antonio asked him. Francis nodded.

"What else would I use?"

"What else is in it, then?"

"Some basil, rosemary, a bay leaf, and a splash of wine." Antonio smiled as he watches the Frenchman scoop up a little bit of the sauce on the wooden spoon, and licked some off before sprinkling a little salt into the pot and stirring some more. He was sure he had seen Arthur give a slight shiver when Francis' tongue darted out to taste the sauce.

"Arthur," Antonio started in a hushed voice. "Does Francis have a job?"

"No, he just helps around the house and cooks…" Arthur replied. "Why?"

"You'll see," Antonio smiled. "Francis?" He called. "Do you like cooking?" Francis nodded.

"It's one of my favourite things to do." He exclaimed.

"Well, what if you could cook as a job?" Francis looked up from the pot, looking a little confused.

"A job?"

"Si," Antonio answered. "I have a restaurant. I have two head chefs, but they both specialise in Italian cuisine. Tell me, can you make paella?" Francis shrugged.

"I've never tried to make it, but I could try" Antonio grinned at him.

"Excellent. Well, how would you like to come round to the restaurant tomorrow? If I think you're up to scratch, you can come and work for me. Ok?"

"Sure," Francis smiled.

"Ok!" Antonio cried, excited at the prospect of having a chef who could cook more than pizza, pasta and various pasta sauces. "I'll come round at 12 tomorrow to take you to the restaurant. Enjoy your lasagne!"

Arthur saw Antonio out, then went back into the kitchen. Francis had started making the white sauce.

"Arthur?" Francis murmered.

"Yes, Francis?"

"What's a job?"