Français: On y va : Shall we go?

Dishes:

Greek. Ouzo. A liquor the author likes a whole lot.

Middle oriental: Kebab or Kebap. Meat, prickled vegetables, yoghurt sauce in a thin dough.

Falafed. Explained later.

Japanese: Sushi-sashimi. White rice with raw fish.

French: Crepes (or Crepes Suzettes with a circonflex accent on the first 'e'). God's food.

British: Fish&Chips. If you ask for an explanation, I'll feed you with it. It's just so GREASY.

Hope now you're curious to try some typical dishes! (Provençal, Midi-French and Hebrew cuisine are great, you should TOTALLY give them a try!)

What if...

As Francis had buckled his seat-belt and stuffed his lent bag on the back-seat, Arthur turned the key to set off to the station. Francis' train left later in the afternoon, but Arthur would never let him call a taxi to get there. He was a guest, dammit! His gentleman senses tickled at the mere opportunity of showing some hospitality. Moreover, the sun was blessing his motherland with his brightness once again and he was determined to seize the possibility of eating out, even if it meant a greasy Fish&Chips.

As Francis leaned on to turn on the radio, Arthur commented sarcastically. "You really enjoy chatting with me, do you?", which made him freeze on place. Turning his head to catch a sight of the driver to his right, Francis replied quietly.

"That's most certainly not it. What topic do you propose then, Sir?" He remarked in sitting back in place with one of his eyebrows slightly more curved than the other.

"What if I had a game to play, my kind Sir? Would this stimulate your curiosity?" He simply added smirking knowingly. If Francis had to vanish in a couple of hours, he wanted to spend as much time as possible conversing with him, rather than listening to commercial music. His accent wasn't exactly what he liked to hear, but his real voice, his expression changing, his whole body moving to add emphasis to his words, that was something he missed when talking on the phone. But now he was there, he was real. And knowing they had to part filled Arthur with an uncommon sadness, a sense of void that he experienced for no-one in the world.

It wasn't like with Alfred. He was his brother and he perfectly knew that they had to communicate very little. Not only were they forced to hear from each other not so often, but this would also ruin their relationship. A brother should know where his place is and as Alfred had grown up this much, he was expected to understand what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. Arthur was ready to support him, of course, but he also knew his little brother had to be prepared to take his decisions for himself. He was an adult, responsible for himself. Or so Arthur wished him to be.

That was why he had grown used to Alfred's absence. Of course, sometimes the house felt empty without him and the memories of that strong little kid running in the garden still haunted him in his darkest days, but thanks to Francis, he had managed to keep on without damaging himself too much. Alcohol entered his life as soon as he could afford it, once Francis couldn't stand by him fully. Unfortunately for the both of them, it became the worst of his addictions.

He tried not telling his friend about the times he spent drinking liquor alone in the kitchen, or else he would've scolded him by saying "Call me, you idiot! We aren't friends for nothing!". But he never phoned. He was too afraid he would create trouble and it was the last thing he wanted to cause to Francis. Besides, it was for that inexplicable lack that he often fell for the bottle. He wanted to fill up the emptiness in his body and drowning himself seemed a nice way to get rid of his problems. In the morning, a number of pills well-ordered in the last shelf were taken, much to his liver joy. And water, water all day, along with painkillers. He still couldn't bring himself to eat, so he usually ended up vomiting everything at half-morning, but he didn't care much. He was pretty good at faking right now and the metallic taste of blood was slowly becoming a refined flavour he needed to lick at least once every three days. This made him extremely unhappy. And so, he cut himself.

Small cuts on his tights, so nobody could see them. Neither Francis. It was a spiral he wasn't sure he would be able to exit all alone, and still, he wanted no-one's help. Yet, Francis was there and everything seemed fine. Everything was perfect and the idea of parting was slowly replaced by the silly game he accepted to play.

"Here you have the rules: we'll ask the other what he would do if we did something, anything you come up with. There is no restriction of time and no possibility to refuse answering. What do you say?" Arthur explained simply, glancing at Francis interested expression.

"That sounds good! Who's going to start?" Was the positive reply. As he was offered the first question, his eyebrows curved into a thoughtful manner. "What would you do... If we lived in the same town?"

"What a strange question..." Arthur exclaimed surprised, before thinking over it. "I guess we would try to leave closer and closer."

"Like neighbours?" Francis asked curiously. The idea of having Arthur all for himself had been in his mind for a while now, along with some other questions he wanted to ask him now that the occasion has presented himself without expectation.

"Well, unless we marry again, we could also live together... to save more money, you know." Arthur replied simply. Having Francis around 24/7 could be worse than the deadly plague, but deep in himself, Arthur wondered if they wouldn't benefit both from the decision.

"Of course, since we would have only wine and cheap beer in the fridge!" Francis remarked, criticising his friend's bad habit. Deep inside, it hurt him not being able to do anything to help him, but what could he do? If Arthur didn't open with him, he just couldn't break his skull and read what there was inside. Still, he wanted him to quit. He was fed up with keeping silent about the sickness painted on his skin and the fear of losing him over something this stupid. He was the only one left. He didn't want to let him kill himself. Not him, too.

"Well, prepare to cook for the two of us everyday, then!" Arthur challenged smirking. Maybe having his dear Frenchman in the kitchen wasn't a bad idea. For all he knew, everything he prepared had a better taste than anything he himself could produce. And without burning a pan! Amazing. Really amazing.

"I wouldn't mind cooking for you at all. But at least promise you'll lay the table while I check the soup!" Every single day with someone at the dinner table. Francis could feel himself lighten up at the thought. He would cook every recipe he knew for the other, only in change of a little company. The house was so frosty and dark now that everyone had disappeared, that thanks to the different time zones, he managed to call Arthur when he was already almost free. Hearing his voice at the other side of the line gave him a reason to eat serenely.

"Fine, fine. What about going out for dinner every now and then?" Taking the car, choosing where to eat, splitting the costs in two... why did it sound so pleasurable?

"Thank you for showing appreciation for my cuisine!" Francis remarked with an offended tone. Of course he was mocking the other, but the idea of dining out together with Arthur was just too much for him. "What would you like to eat, then? Something spicy, something sweet... If you prefer some Chinese take-away to my crepes I'm going to shut you out of our house!"

Arthur laughed. He could picture Francis cursing him for ordering pizza instead of asking for one of his wonderful dishes. And he could also see them sharing the last beer watching the latest episode of Doctor Who, sucking even the last drop in the bottle. "What about Kebap?" Arthur then offered, spotting a Turkish sign at the end of the road.

"Trying to hit on me while munching on calf meat? You're so roman-"

"I mean now, git. If we had to go out together, it would probably be to a Japanese restaurant. Their sushi-sashimi is the end of the world!" He remarked with appreciation in looking for a place where to park.

"Look, over there!" Francis exclaimed in pointing at a now free-parking. "That doesn't sound too bad. The Kebap, I mean. And also the Japanese restaurant would be a great place for a dinner, but they make you pay something like 40, 50 Euros for only a small portion. What about a Greek one? There's a place near my flat which you'd surely like and the chef is renown internationally for his sauces. They also sell a great quality of Ouzo, which might interest you..." He added before opening the car-door and exiting.

Once Arthur had closed the car, they walked through the street still chatting, directed to the windows under the light-blue sign. "You should take me there, then. What about next time we meet?"

Francis smiled at the proposal. "Of course I will. If you're free, I wouldn't mind having you around the next week-end. I'll reserve a table there once at home, but I have to warn you, there will be place only on Saturday..."

"I'll probably take the plane, then. Checking in is much longer, but I'll surely arrive on time." Arthur replied in opening the door and greeting the guy on the other side of the counter. The place smelled vaguely of French fries and burn meat, but it was surely better than his too oily British recipes.

Francis nodded to the cook on entering himself through the glass door. "I could pay the return ticket, if it costs too much..."

Arthur ordered shortly, waited for Francis to command his meal himself and then spoke again. "Falafel? Will you let me have a bite? And I'm fine, don't worry. I can afford to pay the ticket for a 30-minute flight! It shouldn't cost too much in this time of the year, anyway. Just a thing, will you come and pick me up or I have to catch the tube?" He thanked the cook on grabbing his meal well-wrapped in paper, but as he was searching for his wallet to pay, Francis had already taken out enough money for both of them, receiving a glare as a thanks.

"Merci." He murmured as he put his wallet back in the pocket of his jacket and turned to leave. "On y va? And stop scowling, that makes you even uglier." Arthur blinked half-surprised half-crossed at the comment, bidding a quick good-bye before following the Frenchmen outside to sit together on a bench facing the square on the other side of the street.

"You shouldn't have paid, you..."

"You shouldn't be driving me to the station, and yet you do." Francis interrupted on offering his meal to the other. "Wanna try it?" Arthur snorted on sitting next to him, staring at the other's chosen food. Rolled up in a thin dough, there was surely some of that yoghurt sauce, along with some vegetables like onion, cabbage and salad and, well... Arthur still didn't know. He had to find out. Therefore, he leant in and took a big bite. After a few munches, he still hadn't got what it was.

"It'd fried for sure, but it's not potato... Meat, either. Or fish, for the matter. What's it?" He asked curiously, smiling for it tasted good, almost better than his usual choice.

"It's usually made by chickpeas, but I guess these are fava beans. Their taste is slightly different... I'll take you to Malais, the Hebrew quarter in Paris. There's a place specialized in this kind of dishes!" He informed before eating it himself. As he had swallowed his bite, he kept on. "By the way, just send me a message when you're leaving and I'll wait for you at the arrivals."

"Thank you." After some moments of silence, Arthur made another proposal. "What about strolling for a while in the park nearby before getting to the car? We still have one hour or so..."

"I've always envied the parks you have here in London... Do you think there'll be squirrels? I'd love to see some. But first, I'll go buy some water. I forgot to take a bottle before, sorry." After eating the last piece of bread, Francis stood up, collected the oily paper, throw it into a bin nearby and went into the shop once more, exiting it with a bottle of still water. As he sat down again next to Arthur, he offered him a drop, slouching on the bench.

Arthur accepted the offer and drank eagerly, not knowing himself he was that thirsty. They gazed for a while into the distance, blankly staring at the kids playing football in front of the oppressive Gothic church by their side. "Let's go." He almost ordered, forcing himself to stand up, sighing as Francis sighed.

They made a few steps still keeping silent, enjoying the freshness of the air tensing their muscles. Francis sucked in a deep breath, showing a large, sweet smile on his relaxed face. "Shall we continue our game?"

Arthur agreed nodding, trying to remember what question he wanted to ask him when he had proposed the game. Not remembering it, he went for something simple. "What would you do, if I got married again?"

Francis had never thought of Arthur celebrating another marriage. Yet, if he was asking, that meant that he considered still valid the idea of choosing a new partner. At any rate, this was just a supposition and it was surely better to ask. "Who's the lucky one, then?"

Arthur elbowed him for the question, causing him to move aside to avoid his arm. "No-one, you unbearable git! I just wanted to ask!"

"You wouldn't ask, if you hadn't someone in your mind." Francis took his place by his side again, when his eyes started to sparkle at the sight of the green grass of the park.

"Yes, you. Don't be stupid, I'm not going to get engaged to some other stupid slut who's going to dump me at the first occasion." He was almost mad as they entered the park, but his expression turned into a much calmer one as the scenario in front of them turned from grey to colourful and vivid.

"Me? Arthur, can you imagine us married?" Actually, Francis could. Not exactly married, but living together. He was sure that living in his flat would be much funnier if he had someone like Arthur nearby. Weirdly, he actually wanted Arthur to be there for him. Probably because no other woman attracted his attention after what had happened, was his response to these odd thoughts. Nothing sexual about it, he assured himself, just his company, his voice, his nervous way of speaking, his obsessive way of cleaning every shelf and his anger mixed to despair every time something got lost.

"You surely would be the wife. You're too frivolous to be my man!" Arthur stated sarcastically, enjoying the slightly crossed reaction of the other. He also tried imagining himself in the role of the good husband. "I would have to kiss you good-bye every time I leave." He considered, giving voice to his thoughts. When he realized it, he immediately turned to offer his excuses, turning pink a little. "Not that I would! I mean, a man kissing a man..."

Francis blinked, still surprised at the statement. "Well, I've got nothing against it, but still.." His eyes moved to the ground, as his mind tried picturing the scene. Arthur and him.. kissing? He had never thought of that before. He had imagined asking him to sleep together, since it seemed he got much calmer and slept better afterwards, but going to the point of kissing... He wasn't sure if he would like it or not.

Arthur was trembling, even though not so evidently. He had got quite nervous now, not knowing exactly what to say. Why the hell did he say such things? What would Francis think of him now? The silence that had fallen between them scared him, even more than the thoughtful expression painted on Francis' face. His face was burning in a mixture of shame and guilt, when the image of them kissing came to his mind. He couldn't describe the feeling he felt inside of him as he thought of them that close for the first time. It wasn't disgust or repulsion, no, he actually kind of liked it. Having the other so near... And yet, the silence between them was like a solid barrier that hindered him from imagining a vivid scene.

Francis turned with a question in his mind, which was forgot once he glanced at the reddened face of his English friend. He was walking somewhat faster, with the eyes staring to the ground, lost into some other universe. "Arthur?"

Arthur's head moved a little, to let him see who had called him. His breathe had slowed down since their entrance into the park and now, staring at those deep-blue globes both honest and serious at the same time, he felt the air in his lungs as barely sufficient. He moved a step aside, still followed by those sky orbs too serious and wide for the next question to be just a game.

"Arthur... What would you do, if I kissed you?"

-End Ch. 13