"I'm glad you accepted my offer, Francis," Antonio smiled as he walked to the restaurant with Francis.
"It sounds like fun," Francis mused. Antonio nodded.
"So, any progress with Arthur?" He asked.
"No," Francis sighed. "I tried complementing him the other day, but he said I was being silly. Does Arthur not like me?" Antonio's smile grew wider.
"'Being silly', huh? Amigo, I think he might just like you." Francis looked at him in surprise.
"You think so?" Antonio winked at him.
"I know so. Arthur doesn't take well to complements and flirting, and he's pretty oblivious sometimes. He's a bit like my Lovi in that respect, just watch and learn today."
Antonio's restaurant wasn't too big, but most of the tables were filled for lunch already. Antonio led him into the kitchen, where the scent of tomatoes, freshly baked bread, and various herbs was incredibly strong. There were cooks rushing around, preparing various dishes. A waitress hurried in and fondly greeted Antonio, and gave Francis an amorous glance and a wink before returning to the dining area with two large plates of pasta salad.
Suddenly, there was a loud crash at the back of the kitchen, followed by a long wail.
"Argh! You stupid bastard, I'm sick of you!"
"B-but… Fratello, I-"
"Shut the fuck up, you useless bastard! Damnit, why can't I just work with Antonio instea-" Francis didn't hear the rest of the one sided conversation, because of a strange squeal that seemed to come from Antonio.
"Come on, Francis," Antonio giggled, with sparkling eyes.
Antonio rushed to the source of the yelling, which appeared to be an angry looking man with chestnut hair, and a strange, gravity defying curl in his hair. On the floor was another man who looked quite similar to the person shouting, but with a softer face – which was getting ready to cry – and auburn hair. There was a massive, upturned pot beside him, and the floor surrounding him was covered in a red sauce, which the man was also heavily splattered with.
"Lovino!" Antonio cried. "You said you wanted to work with me!" Antonio hugged the shouting man from behind, causing him to splutter.
"G-get off me, you bastard!" Lovino yelled. Antonio kissed his ear, gaining another string of profanities before releasing him. Lovino immediately rushed away from Antonio, and slipped on the spilt sauce, falling into it. Antonio laughed, and helped up Lovino and the other man.
"Now, what happened?" Antonio asked kindly.
"Ve, Mr Carriedo, I was carrying the saucepan to the cooks, but Lovino knocked against me, a-"
"Don't lie, bastard!" Lovino barked at who was assumed to be his brother, causing him to burst into tears.
"Hey, hey, it doesn't matter," Antonio soothed the crying man. "We'll get this cleaned up, and get back to cooking, okay?" The crying man smiled and nodded, while his brother rolled his eyes. It was then that they noticed Francis.
"Who's that?" Lovino demanded, his olive cheeks gaining a flush of pink.
"This is Francis, he might be joining us here," Antonio grinned. Lovino tutted.
"Another cook?"
"Nope, a chef, to join you and Feli!" Lovino wrinkled his nose, but Antonio didn't notice.
"Francis, this is Feliciano Vargas," Antonio introduced the now very cheerful auburn haired man. "And this is his older brother, my little Lovin-Oof!" Lovino jabbed his elbow into Antonio's side, causing him to double over.
"Don't call me that, bastard!" Lovino growled. Antonio chuckled breathlessly.
"Bu-but Lovi, that's what you are," he mewled. Lovino's blush intensified.
"St-stupid…"
After the sauce was all cleaned up, Antonio gave Lovino a quick peck on the cheek before leading Francis off to another part of the kitchen.
"So, you want me to make paella?" Francis asked.
"Si," Antonio smiled. "The restaurant is supposed to specialise in Spanish and Italian food, but our chefs and cooks can only make Italian food. Up until now, I've been cooking too, and teaching Lovi how to cook Spanish dishes, but it's so hard to run the restaurant at the same time. So, if your cooking is up to scratch, you can take over my place in the kitchen!" Antonio helped Francis get all the necessary ingredients, and then watched as his apprentice began to prepare them for the dish.
"Antonio, I thought you said you and Lovino were dating?" Francis wondered, a little confused about the situation. Antonio nodded his head enthusiastically.
"Si, we are."
"But, he doesn't seem to like you an awful lot." Francis statement was answered with a chuckle and a shrug from the Spaniard.
"That is just Lovi." He explained. "You see how he shouted at his brother?" Francis nodded. "He doesn't hate Feli, he just doesn't want to see him messing up. And in regards to me, well, we've been living together for over a year now, he just gets embarrassed when it comes to affection."
Francis thought this over while he chopped up the tomatoes.
"My Lovi isn't too different to Arthur, is he?" Antonio remarked, as if he was reading Francis' mind. Francis shook his head with a slight smile. Was that why Arthur said he was being silly? Because he liked him? "Now, amigo, if you want our grumpy, reclusive Englishman, here's what you have to do…"
As Antonio imparted his words of wisdom, Francis drank in the information while he created one of the best paella's that Antonio had ever tasted; Francis was very thankful for his powerful processor.
Arthur hated meetings with his publisher. He had just barely met the deadline for the first few chapters of his latest novel, and had been staying up late to finish it. When he got back to the house, the door was unlocked, but all the lights were on. He flicked the light switch and flooded the living room with light. There was a soft glow coming from the kitchen, along with a mouth-watering smell.
"Francis?" He called. No answer. He cautiously entered the kitchen.
The source of the glow seemed to be from the tea lights on the small dining table, and the smell would have been the massive roast dinner split between the two plates. Francis was sat in one of the two chairs, wearing a deep green silk shirt, and black trousers. His hair was tied back, as he tied it whenever he was cooking.
"Wh-what's this?" Arthur asked him, a little overwhelmed.
"It is the English tradition of roast beef, with the French tradition of romance," Francis smiled. Arthur felt his cheeks flush pink.
"You're not even French, you were made in Japan," he retorted, trying not to let his embarrassment show, and not doing a good job of it.
"Oui, but I didn't think you would appreciate beef nigiri," Francis smirked. Arthur had no more arguments. "So, sit and enjoy, mon cher."
Arthur sat at the table and cut a bit of his food, then tasted it. He had always said that his mother was the best cook he had ever met, but now he had to take that back. Francis should have 10 michelin stars, as far as Arthur was concerned. After they had finished, Francis refused all of Arthurs offers to help wash the dishes.
"Francis? Why did you do this tonight?" Arthur asked. He took a sip of the wine in his glass that Francis had pushed onto him.
"Do what?"
"Don't play dumb!" Arthur frowned. "Why did you make an amazing dinner, with candles and the like?" Francis turned to look at Arthur. He walked over to his chair, took his hand, and pulled him to his feet. Arthur trembled a little as Francis' long fingers curled round his waist. He looked up, and his large, green eyes met sincere, blue ones. A small smile graced Francis' face.
"Because, Arthur," he said softly. "You deserve things like this every day." Arthur froze when Francis' lips pressed against his forehead.
"Uh… I, um…" Arthur tripped over his words as his face grew redder. "I'm pretty tired, I'll see you in the morning." He pulled away from Francis, and started to leave the kitchen quickly, pausing at the door. "Thanks for dinner, Francis." He left the kitchen and dashed up the staircase.
Francis smiled. He had finally figured out Arthur.