Wow so I haven't updated this in... well, a long time. This is part one of the next chapter, the next part will be up soon (oh who am I even kidding...). This is also the end of Francis as a major character, and the next part will be Alfred-centric. (But Francis is still important in this story.)

Enjoy~

After what seemed like only ten minutes of self pity, she heard the door open and she shot her head up from where she had let it fall, between her knees.

"Oh, you're back." She stated, somewhat surprisingly. It would not have surprised her if he had up and left, because she was being a burden.

He smiled, and didn't answer. Just nodded and winked, and she knew that was her cue to stand up, fumble with her purse, and follow him. They made their way out the back of the restaurant to the back of the dimly lit parking lot, where only a few cars glinted forlornly in the muted streetlamps. Approaching two cars sitting fairly isolated from each other, she automatically assumed his was the dirty beater to the right. As she walked over to it, he cleared his throat and she stopped. Turned.

"Wrong car, darling." He sounded amused, the faintest twitch of his lip made her know that he was, indeed, laughing at her blunder. Blearily, she entered the nicer car that he had so graciously opened the door for her. Normally, in such an embarrassing situation she would have already snapped, but she was already imposing herself on his life. And she wasn't quite that rude.

"What's your address?" He asked kindly, matter-of-factly. Stuttering, she managed to spell it out without embarrassing herself further. He nodded and punched it into his fancy GPS.

Not knowing what to do, she placed her hands in her lap as he quietly turned the keys and drove out of the lot. Studying the leather upholstery on the seat, she realized that the silence was vaguely unnerving.

"It's, uh, a nice car you have here." She said stupidly. Anything to upend the cursed quiet tension.

"Of course. Did you expect anything else?" She looked up at him and realized that his eyes were twinkling mischievously; his mouth was twitching, repressing a grin. She realized her faux pas with the other car, and blushed.

"It's fine," he continued, this time actually chuckling aloud. She scowled. What right did he have to ridicule her; a drunk rejected poor girl in the middle of the night? Well, he was going out of his way to take care of her. Oh. That right.

"Most people think I'm poor," he continued, still smiling, "But I'm actually quite well off."

"Why are you working as a waiter of all things, then?" the question burst out of her mouth unbidden, and she clapped her hand over her own mouth at her own audacity. She turned redder, if that was possible.

"As a painter, I need inspiration. I like watching people, helping people," he explained. Looking into his fervent, passionate eyes, she could believe it. She gave him a small smile of her own.

"Is that why you're helping me?"

"Yes, well, mostly. You're a little different, though." Well of course. It wasn't everyday that one has to save someone like her in such an embarrassing situation, she mused. But out of sheer curiosity, she asked the question.

"How?"

He beamed at her. "You're cute."

She choked on air. "What?"

"You heard me."

She turned to face him, now just a little more than ticked off. "Are you coming on to me?" She asked hotly.

To her surprise, and utter chagrin, he leaned forward and laughed heartily. "Darling," he choked out between chuckles, "I'm gay."