A/N: This is the chapter where the whole world seems to be centred around Arthur's love life (ish) and therein raises the question of his joie de vivre. I really like Mr. Blue Sky by ELO. In my head, it's possibly the theme song of this chapter. But then again, I'm being silly so don't listen to me. I didn't think I would be able to write this chapter as quickly as this. And wow, I have horrible bags under my eyes because I sacrifice several sleep hours just for this. Well done to those who guessed Kiku's mystery student!

As always, I give my eternal thanks to my awesome proofreader Dee, for all those nights we spent just chatting away about all sorts of feels. Oh and leg hair.

Have a swell valentine's guys.

"It's a he."

Arthur's fingers loosened and in less than a second, the front of his shirt was now sporting a big ugly stain. For one surreal moment, it almost felt as if it was his life that was crashing around him. For a moment, it felt like that it was him who was backed into a corner, it was him tearing his hair out in frustration before finally snatching the phone and dialling the first person who came into mind.

"Arthur?" came Kiku's voice, small and unsure.

With surprising grace, Arthur slowly set his mug down on his desk. "Don't lie," he croaked.

"S-Sorry?"

"Bollocks," he said, his voice a little firmer this time. He could almost hear the cogs of Kiku's mind turn in confusion.

"I don't…"

"Well, for starters, you're obviously not gay," he asserted gruffly. "So I don't understand how he could like you." It took him a second to realise what he had just said and he almost smacked himself for his tactlessness. "N-Not that I'm saying you're unlikeable, of course! You're quite a good-looking bloke," he quickly said.

And straight.

Yes, Kiku was straight. He had to be straight. He was in love with or at least had been in love with cartoon girls with impossible bosoms back in uni and he still had a weak spot for fashionable coquettish girls. There was no way he could just become gay overnight. It was just impossible. Why, it wasn't like Kiku had turned gay because he did. Not that he had, of course. Technically he was not gay, even though he was sort of in a homosexual relationship with his boss.

"I-I see."

"In any case, could you even be sure that this bloke likes you? I mean, it could have been a fluke. Did he send you a note or something? You know, there's always a probability that he might have cocked up and slipped it in the wrong folder or something."

"I suppose…" Kiku mused softly. "But I don't think…it could be a mistake? He, um, made it clear."

"Oh god," Arthur blanched and lowering his voice, he hissed, "He fucked you, didn't he?"

"Eh?" Kiku sounded genuinely confused.

"He fucked you? Or, oh crapulence, did you fuck him?"

Kiku seemed floundered by this because there was a rather loud crash on his end and he sputtered for a moment, trying to find his words. "Asa!" he cried out and it was the second time Arthur heard him slip into an accent.

Arthur cringed at his folly but he decided to push along with his train of thought nevertheless. "But isn't that what they do though? Give lap dances for better marks? Or in this case, have a shag with their lecturer so they'd ace their assessment?"

Kiku made an affronted noise. "Perhaps in the media but not in my class. They're all respectable adults, Arthur," he stated, not sounding at all pleased.

"Right, right. Sorry," Arthur mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "So what did he do then? Surely not serenade you."

"Serenade?"

"You know, the whole singing sort of thing? Kind of like in Romeo and Juliet. Although…" Arthur frowned, looking at fingernails and he noticed that they had been cut short. He wondered if Francis had done them when he was asleep. He curled his fingers in and tucked his hand away out of embarrassment. "I don't think there was any singing there but I guess you sort of get the picture I'm trying to paint for you."

"Hm. Yes, I understand. But," He could tell Kiku was shaking his head. "No. It wasn't anything flamboyant. He just…made some hints. And it's sort of…accumulated."

Arthur froze. "Accumulated? What, you mean this has been going on for a while now? How long?"

Kiku fell quiet at this, seemingly hesitant.

"Keeks?" he prompted in a gentler tone and his nose scrunched a little at how foreign that name sounded as it rolled off his tongue. Huh, better leave that to Gilbert.

"About one semester," the man finally answered, voice thick with discomfort.

Arthur's jaw slackened and he sat there, staring off into the distance in bafflement.

One semester. One fucking semester.

That was longer than when he and Francis got together with their relationship sort of thing. It made Arthur wonder just how much suffering Kiku must have endured, just keeping all of this to himself for the past few months, and how or rather what divine force had actually caused Gilbert to overlook something like this. It just did not make sense. Like, back during their uni days, no matter where and what Kiku was up to, Gilbert always knew. Arthur had often wondered how or rather why – but then again, this was Gilbert. He was a freak who could do things by his own rules and no one would reprimand him for his actions, let alone stop him. And so, to actually discover that the impossible notion of Gilbert not knowing is actually quite possible…it is a rather discomforting thought.

"Oh. Wow. Huh." Arthur bit the inside of his cheek. "Is she, I mean, he English?"

"Greek," Kiku slowly replied after a beat of silence transpired between them.

"Shite."

He tried to not think of how his stomach churned a little at the thought of Kiku going out with this Greek student of his, of how strangely uneasy it made him feel. Instead, he tried to hone his thoughts in on actually helping out his mate with this little crisis because who knows, maybe he could actually orchestrate a plan which would give Kiku the impetus to end this romantic entanglement.

"Hm. Right. Okay. So what exactly did you want me to advice you on?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder before he jumped at the sight of Yao standing before his desk with his arms crossed. He was peering at him through his new pair of stupid-looking hipster glasses with a disapproving look. "Jes-shit! Oh, no, not – um, look, I'm sorry but I don't think I can stay on for long. Stupid chink-o-oh-" He paled. "Oh fuck, no, I-I mean, I have to go soon. Need to make a few copies of something shitty like potatoes," he muttered in one breath, averting his eyes away from Yao so he would not see the rise of anger on his face.

Shitting ducks.

Arthur cringed, mentally kicking himself as he did his best to stave off the urge to slam the telephone receiver down and abscond.

Stupid, stupid mouth.

It could have been good timing or it could have been the fact that Kiku always had a knack for reading between the lines. Whichever it was, Arthur was grateful for it. It saved him the embarrassment of asking Kiku to hang up as the man made the move to end the call by briefly reminding him that he would stop over tomorrow to deliver his invitation. He agreed that it was fine.

"Sorry," Arthur also apologised and Kiku chuckled, saying that it was fine and rather it was his fault for calling during office hours. Honestly, Arthur did not think he had ever met anyone as profoundly self-incriminating as Kiku Honda. "But in any case," he added. "I'm always around you know. I could ring you later and we can talk?" As a friend, it just did not sit right to leave things unfinished as it is. That, and he was sort of curious about this Grecian student.

The offer seemed appreciated and Arthur had really expected no less when Kiku said that he would think about it (which usually meant a no but perhaps this was an exception?). They exchanged brief goodbyes and even though the line went dead, Arthur did not lower his receiver. He could feel Yao's gaze burn into the crown of his head and he held his breath, in the wild hope that the man would take the hint and leave him alone.

"And just how long do you think you are going to hold the phone like a stupid idiot? I know you've finished talking."

Of course there was no such luck. Who was he deluding?

Holding back a sigh, Arthur's shoulders slumped in defeat. In silent acquiescence, he finally lowered the receiver and turned to his senior with a shaky smile. "Hiiii," he began lamely. "Can I help you?"

Apparently that caused a shrill sound to come out of the man's mouth and Arthur snapped his mouth shut.

"Can I help you? Huh! You listen here," Yao leaned in and to Arthur's surprise, his voice had lowered substantially to a whisper. "I know that you like to dump your girls easily like you dump your laundry – Hah? What do you mean no? Ehh! Suzie told me everything you know! Don't lie, I know you and her go to the same university! Changing girls like cameras! – and while it disgusts me that you have actually stooped this low to start sleeping with Francis-" Arthur's forehead creased at this. "-I will ask you one thing. Are you in love with him?"

Arthur stared at him blankly. "Huh?"

"Yes or no?" prompted Yao in a voice which sounded very much like a domineering mother.

"Now just wait a tick," Arthur interjected with a wave of his hand, much to Yao's displeasure. "I really don't believe you've the right to be privy of my personal matters. Why are you asking me this?"

"Because if you are playing this game for too long, méi máo, you will die."

What. The. Fuck.

Before Arthur could even comprehend the cryptic message Yao had passed onto him, the man had skulked back to his desk and he resumed his previous activity of picking up the phone and prattling on to whoever it was about venue reservations. As if nothing had happened. The exchange had left Arthur's mind reeling a little and he had to grab onto the edge of his desk to save himself from actually toppling out of his seat.

In love? Die?

His grip tightened on the wood.

What was that about?

"Seriously, why the hell is everyone getting into my bloody affairs?"

Arthur stared at the pile of papers before him in distaste. His feet dug into the ground, stopping the need to disappear into the coffee room for a second tea break and to resume reading the latest issue of Him (no he was not skiving off, mind you).

It had only been an hour since the weird confrontation with Yao occurred and already the entire editorial wing was buzzing with talks of You know, I heard Francis is likely to actually settle down for once and Did you hear Arthur is his favourite right now – you know Arthur? The prick with the funny-looking eyebrows and Francis hasn't been over to the other divisions in ages – do you think he's sticking to one lover now? Arthur's a lucky bastard as well as What they're really not together? or They're together? or even Why are they eventogether?

Honestly, Arthur could not understand why everyone was making such a fuss about it now. So what if Francis had not been visiting the other divisions? He obviously had no business there in the first place. And what was this about the girls from Marketing slagging him off for being desperate?

He unceremoniously dropped a pile of papers on the table, uncaring if sheets went flying. "How the fuck have I been desperate?" he grumbled to himself as he began sorting them for photocopying. "I didn't ask for any attention because he obviously came up on me."

"Who did?"

Arthur's hands flew up in surprise and it knocked over one of the piles. A cloud of unbounded papers went flying up into the air and before it rained down to the floor in a cluttered mess.

"Oh dear! Sorry!"

Arthur looked on in bewilderment as Belle rushed in, breasts bouncing with each hurried step. Her hands were wildly reaching out for any papers she could collect before they disappeared under the machines. "Um," Arthur began intelligently after watching her comically prance around the room for a few minutes.

Belle paused and she turned to him, beaming. "Hi," she greeted with a pretty flush to her cheeks. "I'm sorry you're surprise."

"Were surprised." The correction came out without him meaning for it to but Belle simply giggled at this.

"Oh yes, sorry! I'm trying but I think I'm getting better?"

He could not help but smile a little at that. "You've improved since we've last spoken to each other, that's for sure," he agreed, finding that even though her accent was still a little heavy, he could understand her much better now than when they first met. He stepped forward to relieve her of the papers. "I'm sorry for the mess though. I'm a little clumsy as you've witnessed."

"It's cute about you," she said. "I think that's why Francis likes you."

Arthur's eyebrows pinched at that. He was fairly certain that his heart did not stutter at that. No it did not, of course it did not. There was no way his heartbeat increased a tad bit whenever Francis's name was mentioned in a conversation because that was just stupid. He slowly deposited the papers on the table. "…you think?" he decided to ask slowly, casting her a questioning look.

Belle nodded enthusiastically. "I think you two are very cute together. Very good. I wish you happiness."

"Whoa, whoa. What happiness?"

"Happiness of being together."

"Happiness?"

"Yes, happiness!" she trilled with a delightful clap of her hands and a bright smile. "I think you deserve a boyfriend like Francis. He is good, not like Lauren from Marketing. She's a bitch."

Arthur stared at her in wonderment. Well, shit. A brutally honest response was not what he was expecting from a sweet-faced girl like Belle. He watched her continue to pick up the rest of the papers, unabashedly taking in the view of how her too short skirt clung at the right places. "Mr. Bonnefoy and I aren't exactly together, you know," he said coolly and he was surprised to see the scandalised look she threw at him. His shoulders grew rigid at this and he fought back the blush rose on his cheeks. "What? Did I say something wrong?"

"What do you mean?" She set down the papers and tilted her head to meet his gaze. "Why is this so? You don't loving him? You are not happy? You are not enjoying?"

"Not enjoying? What do you mean?"

"No…" she paused, waving her hand around as she searched for a word. "Joie de vivre?"

"I reckon I'm doing fine," he replied stiffly.

"But?"

"But nothing."

Belle did not look convinced. Arthur held back a sigh. "Can I ask you why are you asking me so many questions?"

"Because I want to know?" she said with a cheeky little grin. "Everyone keeps saying that maybe you are happy, that maybe you are not. But I am thinking that you must be because you look like you like being together with Francis."

"Huh," was all Arthur replied.

"Huh," echoed Belle, giggling.

Happy, huh.

Was he happy? He supposed he was a little. He was no longer single now, so the notion – that a professionally stagnant and the only living specimen of caterpillar-browed humans could indeed find a little bit of joy in his jaded life (ones which did not come packed in a bottle of scotch) – did sort of constituted to his overall elevated state of mind. And yet the idea of togetherness, of being lovers. The commitment and emotional weight required to be carried in and invested…

Why is everyone badgering me about this? What was wrong with being fuck buddies anyway? Sex with no strings attached was something everyone did! It wasn't exactly everlasting happiness but short bursts of joy were not that-

"Fuck…buddies?"

Oh shit, was he thinking out loud?

"Sorry, allow it," he quickly said in the wild hope that Belle did not understand his rambling musings (which was probably slim to none) and he directed his gaze to his hands, watching them sort the papers for the second time that afternoon. "Anyway, how are you doing in Elixir so far? All good?" he asked, cleverly changing the subject and he was glad that she did eventually dropped the matter and began gossiping about the shenanigans the girls from Marketing had been up to. Especially the dirty details of how Lauren had split up with that Richie-Ricky-Mickey-what's-his-face bloke from Finance. Cow.

"And it's because she is saying that he wasn't good at all! She's have regrets for breaking up with you since you're dating with Francis," Belle was saying and no, Arthur's stomach did not flutter in elation at the thought of his and Francis's perceived togetherness. No, he did not believe he and Francis were sharing anything more apart from common lust for each other. And no, no, no, he had not just weighed the possibility that he and Francis could actually really be a thing and how this marked the end of his lonely jaded years because hello there sir, here's a free ticket for a rollercoaster ride of joie de vivre and l'amour!

Arthur almost slapped himself. No, no, stop that dangerous train of thought because…well, was he even in love with men in the first place? Could he have actually, possibly been in love with men, all this time (if Feliks observation of the lifespan of his past relationships with women were of any indication)? Had he somehow unexpectedly developed quasi-romantic feelings for Francis Bonnefoy in the last few months?

Arthur's gaze fell upon Belle.

Of course he was still 'wild boy' Arthur Kirkland. There was no fucking way he was in love with men and men like Francis Bonnefoy. He was fucking straight for fuck's sake because he still loved tits.

"…tits?"

Arthur knocked over a pile of papers. "Fucking fuck willy arse buggery balls!" he exclaimed, hands flailing exaggeratingly at the mess he had created out of his cursed clumsiness. He stole a glance at Belle and saw that she was looking at him, all eyes wide and brows raised. He let out a heavy sigh and without offering an explanation, decided to openly stare at her breasts in the hopes of feeling excited by their hidden pertness. His fingers twitched.

"Umm.." she began meekly after a long pause had developed between them but stopped when Arthur raised his hand.

"I'm sorry," he finally said in a defeated voice. "But I think I need to stop thinking about chest hair."

"…okay."

"Right," Arthur shuffled towards the door. "I'm going off for a slash – I mean, I'm going to, um, actually no you better not – yeah. So, um, right then. Seeyas."

"…okay?"

"I've just checked with Yao earlier. We have a choice of giving samples of either hand lotion, skincare or makeup. I'll bring you the samples in the morning just in time for your meeting, Mr. Bonnefoy," Arthur stated, checking a few things off the inventory in his phone.

Francis made a sound of agreement. "Is that all?"

"Um," He did a final check. "Yes, that's all."

"Good." There was a smile on Francis's handsome face and he was raising his hand, extending it towards Arthur. "Come here."

Arthur glanced behind him, expecting somebody like Yao to be standing there. There was nobody. When it became apparent that there really was no one else in the room and that no one was going to burst in any time soon, he pointed to himself and asked in disbelief, "What, me?"

"Yes, you."

"You want me. To go there. As in there where you're seated."

"Oui oui."

"Right there. Next to you."

Francis's lips quirked up in amusement. "Yes. Would you like me to draw you a map of my office? I was certain that you have memorised this area well, especially after that one evening when you were on my desk-"

"Mr. Bonnefoy!" Arthur hissed, his cheeks burning in embarrassment. "Th-That was–! Don't bring that into this conversation because it's unnecessary and – and that was a stupid and risky thing you coerced-!"

"Coerced, you say? I see we remember that evening differently," Francis remarked, eyes dancing with mirthfulness. "Shall I relay you my anecdote? Of how I walked into my office one evening and found my employee sitting on my desk, wearing nothing bu-"

Arthur threw his hands up, letting out frustrated noise as he stormed his way over to his boss's desk. "You are aggravating," he stated the moment he stopped directly in front of it.

Francis merely chuckled at this and he raised his hand once more, beckoning him. "Please, come closer," he said encouragingly.

"I'm already close."

"But not close enough," Francis quipped cleverly and Arthur cast him a look, not amused.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, I am serious," Francis replied, even though there was no ounce of seriousness in his voice and was failing spectacularly in his perfunctory attempt at hiding his amusement. "Now come here, mon chou, or will I have to abuse my authority to make you come close to me?"

Arthur scowled before he reluctantly trudged around the desk and purposely left a foot's worth of space between them before leaning against it. "There. Are you pleased? I've done as you've instructed, sir," he drawled, inwardly pleased with the slightly disappointed look which crossed Francis's face.

"Not quite," came Francis's reply. In one smooth motion, he turned in his chair and, grasping both of Arthur's wrists, tugged him close. It resulted to Arthur standing right in between Francis's outstretched legs. Arthur sucked in air, flustered by their position and he took a step back to re-establish the appropriate space between them. He bumped into the edge of the desk and frowned disapprovingly at the audaciousness of his boss's actions.

"We are at work," he reminded, quickly stealing a few glances at the glass walls of Francis's office to make sure no one was peering in on them.

"Yes we are," Francis purred, hands refusing to release Arthur from his grasp. In spite of his words, he drew Arthur closer yet again until there was very, very little space between them.

"You don't give an arse about keeping this under wraps now, do you?" A lopsided smiled was all Arthur was received. He pursed his lips. "Well, in case you weren't aware, sir, people have been talking," he added as offhandedly as possible whilst keeping his eyes trained on the man's face.

Francis did not look at all surprised at this and he just said, "Oh?"

Arthur's shoulders dropped. "Oh?" he echoed.

"What sort of things?"

"Well, things like how you haven't been dropping by the other divisions," huffed Arthur and he reached over to smooth Francis's fringe to the side so he could see him better. "Things like how we shouldn't be together. Things like, they're all chatting all sorts of rubbish. I don't understand why everyone's suddenly harping on about it."

"Hm." Francis seemed unperturbed, almost as if he was quite blasé about the entire thing. It was a far cry from the internal turbulence Arthur had been experiencing all day and that made him feel a little bit frustrated.

"Seriously? 'Hm'? That's all you're going to say?"

Francis reached up and brushed his thumb across Arthur's brow. "Do you care if they talk?" he asked.

"No," Arthur answered flatly.

"Then it doesn't matter," Francis murmured before he tilted his head upwards and pressed a quick kiss to Arthur's brow. "The only thing that I care about is us."

"Us," repeated Arthur questioningly, not pulling away. He kept his head bowed, examining Francis's eyes.

"Yes, us," Francis grinned. His hands fell to Arthur's collar and he deftly fixed the other's tie as their eyes remained fixed upon each other. "We share something special."

Special, huh.

Arthur ignored the way his heart leapt at the word.

"You've been wearing ties lately," Francis then pointed out and Arthur could feel the tips of his fingers ghost across his collarbone. "It's very attractive."

Arthur snorted. "Well I wouldn't have had to wear collared shirts if it weren't for your stupid lovebites. And I suppose I would say the same to you but I don't think I will. Reckon it'll stroke your ego."

"Heh, you think ill of me." Francis gave a small affectionate pinch to Arthur's nose, to which an aggravated squawk was won.

"You haven't the faintest idea of what's going on in my head." Arthur batted his hand away. "Now tell me, why am I standing between your legs?"

"Well, at first I wanted to ask you where do you want to have dinner tonight," said Francis smoothly. "However…" His hand was now on Arthur's thigh. "I think that could be arranged on a different date. Your question is making me have second thoughts now because, you see, there are many great things you can do while standing between my legs, mon chou."

"What you sayin'?" Arthur looked at him hard, wondering if it was a joke. "Fuck you," Arthur eventually said and Francis burst out laughing. "Shut up. Fuck you!" he said again, this time through a hiss.

"Oh if you insist!" Francis gasped, catching his breath.

"No, don't you bloody dare." Arthur halted the hand that was trying to slide up his thigh. "I don't want my clothes dirty."

"What about the clothes I'd given you? You could wear those," Francis said distractedly. "Where are they anyway? You haven't worn them?"

"No," Arthur answered truthfully.

Francis's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Oh." He sounded genuinely disappointed. "You don't like them? I thought they suited you."

"Yeah, well. You think." Arthur mumbled, fidgeting a little in discomfort. "I've no use for them. No occasion for it, really."

Which was partially true. In actuality, Arthur had not removed any of them from their respective packaging and all the designer clothes Francis had (and rather effusively, if you asked him) gifted him were all stacked neatly in a pile in his wardrobe. Whenever he dressed in the morning, he tried not to acknowledge the fact that the pile steadily grew every fortnight. He had voiced his protestation against the clothes from the very start but Francis was tenacious in his decision and nevertheless kept swamping him with gifts whenever they met up because he insists that It's what lovers do, no?

"So have you decided?"

Arthur blinked out of his wandering thoughts. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

"Will you come to Paris?"

"You were actually serious about that?"

"Yes, of course. I thought we should spend time together. Have a weekend getaway in France. Just the two of us."

"With me. Why me?" asked Arthur feebly.

"Why? Oh la la, mon chou à la crème!" trilled Francis before he seized his face with both hands and planted a firm kiss square on his lips. Right there. In Francis's glass-walled office. Everyone was probably watching from outside. They were kissing in public. At work.

Oh god.

Arthur pulled out of the kiss and stared at Francis, wide-eyed and slightly breathless. His mind was spinning, his lips were throbbing and his heart was pounding, pounding, pounding. "Mr. Bonnefoy!" he gasped out, disbelief ringing clear in his voice. "What was-y-you just-! Everyone – why did–!"

"You are the reason of my joie de vivre."

Arthur froze, slack-jawed. What?

"Come with me to Paris," Francis was saying coaxingly and Arthur's mind went blank. He slumped against the desk and gawked stupidly at his boss. He was still trying to shake off the initial shock from the kiss – still trying to make sense of it, really – and to have Francis say something so unexpectedand out of the blue like that… It rendered him speechless. It made him feel light-headed, as if his head was being filled with helium – or rather, words. So many words. Words like happiness and togetherness and joie de vivre. What the fuck did joie de vivre mean anyway? The enjoyment of life? Wasn't he enjoying life by living it anyway? And what was Francis going on about? Hadn't Francis Bonnefoy – admirable, suave and in control – always had everything going right in his life, as opposed to him – jaded, uncharismatic and socially inept – who did not? Why was he inputting fallacy – the idea that the Francis Bonnefoy actually does require and needed another person to fuel his enjoyment and love of life – into this mess? It just did not make sense.

"Arthur?" Francis's hands were lingering by his collar once more and he was tracing the hem slowly, teasingly. "Will you come then, my darling?" he asked softly.

Arthur looked him in the eye and said no.