I'm going to apologise in advance for how confusing this might seem. I'll explain later but it may be a bit confusing? Sorry. =/

Arthur woke to find Alfred leaning over him. His forefinger was pointed at his face. "Oh, you're awake," said Alfred innocently before poking one of Arthur's eyebrows. The Brit smacked his hand away and sat up.

"What are you doing?" he grumbled as he stretched.

"Waking you up," said Alfred with a shrug. "Why were you sleeping on the couch, anyway?"

Trying not to look at Matthew's cup which he had left on the coffee table, Arthur rolled his eyes. "My bed was being used by a frog," he explained. "And I only closed my eyes for a moment." He had closed them the night before in despair, wondering what he should do about Matthew. He must have gradually fallen asleep and slipped down until he was lying. He ran a hand through his hair. "Is he gone?"

"Who?"

"The Frog."

"Who, Francey-pants? He's in the kitchen. He said something about saving us from your awful cooking."

"What?!" snapped Arthur as he stood. He glared at Alfred.

"Hey," Alfred replied, raising his hands in surrender. "His words, not mine, dude."

Grumbling, Arthur shuffled off. "I'm going to the bathroom. Make sure he doesn't get in," he mumbled on his way.

"Wait!" Alfred grabbed Arthur's arm and stopped him.

"What is it?" asked Arthur with a tired look.

"Did anything happen last night?"

Arthur froze for a second. Now he understood Alfred's actions from the day before. He knew that Matthew had been planning to tell Arthur that he loved him. But Arthur had done nothing. If he told Alfred this, he would get an earful. And he was still uncertain – Alfred's admonishments and moaning would not serve to help him. Arthur carefully arranged his expression so that he looked confused. "What are you talking about?"

He watched Alfred hesitate. Then he beamed down at him. "Nothing! I'm hungry! Isn't Francey finished yet?" And with that he bounded from the room in search of something to fill his stomach.

Sighing, Arthur also exited the room. He made his way to the bathroom to waken himself up. He soon found himself staring into the mirror. Matthew loved him. And in a romantic way. He had never thought anyone would be capable of that. Except the Frog but he didn't count. Perhaps he should have said something. But he wasn't sure how he felt. And he was still confused. Matthew was kind and caring and only ever did his best for Arthur. Of course, he had broken away but, as he had said, he was a nation and needed to grow. And he had. He was a beautiful young man and a beautiful nation. Not forgetting the fact that he was still part of the Commonwealth. He hadn't completely broken away as it were. Arthur was proud of him – but he was proud of all his former brothers and sisters. Matthew had always taken care of him when he needed it. His devotion was touching and it made Arthur feel... what? Wanted? Needed? Cared for?

Still not sure how he felt about the man who loved him, Arthur climbed into the shower. When he emerged from his bathroom in a towel, he found Francis outside the room. The Frenchman leered at him, amused at the compromising situation the Brit was in. "Alfred has left. It is just the two of us, mon amour," he informed Arthur. He winked at the scowling at Englishman. "Et... I think I must go aussi. It has been... nice." Francis looked Arthur up and down with a smirk before turning to leave.

"Wait!" exclaimed Arthur, taking even himself by surprise. "I need you!"

Francis turned round with a triumphant grin. "Oui?"

"Don't get too ahead of yourself," growled Arthur. "I need your help with something..."

"Vraiment?" asked Francis, raising an amused eyebrow.

"It's about Matthew but I'm getting dressed before we discuss this further." He turned to make his way to his bedroom.

"Ah," said Francis, sounding serious. Arthur glanced over his shoulder and found him smiling. "He told you, oui?"

"Told me?" Arthur blinked. "What... What do you mean, exactly?"

"He said 'je t'aime', did he not?"

"Of course he didn't!" said Arthur. "He said it in English," he added with a smug smile once Francis had given him a confused look.

Once Arthur had dressed in a shirt, tie and a pair of black trousers, he rejoined Francis in the living room. He sat on the opposite couch from him and Francis gazed at him. There was silence for a moment before Arthur broke it. "Well?"

"Well what, cher?"

"What do I do now?"

"Perhaps you could elaborate...?"

"What do you mean?"

Francis sighed and shook his head. "Cher, when Matthieu told you that he loved you, what did you do?"

"Ah, well, I, uh..." Arthur blushed. He was beginning to regret asking Francis to stay. If he asked him to go into details, he wasn't sure he could tell him. "He... I... Nothing... He left before I could do anything."

"Oui. I expected as much..."

"What's that supposed to mean?!" snapped Arthur.

"I only meant that you would be too shocked to do anything. Et Matthieu is un peu shy, non?" Francis leaned back on his couch and crossed his legs. This was an action which usually caught Arthur's attention – he knew the Frenchman was trying to be provocative. His reaction was always to shout at him but today he ignored it.

"Yes, yes. What do I do?!"

The blue-eyed man gazed at him. "You love him, oui?"

Arthur hesitated. Did he? This panic inside him, was it love? And was it the same kind of love as Matthew's? If he didn't love Matthew as anything other than a brother, would Matthew turn away from him, too? The thought tore him apart – he couldn't lose Matthew. "I... I think I do," he answered. No sense in telling the Frog a definite answer – he didn't want to be mocked in his own home.

"Bien!" said Francis, uncrossing his legs and leaning forwards. "The first step is acknowledging your feelings. Now, we must think of a magnifique et romantique way pour you to express those feelings."

"Like what?" Arthur asked, suspicious.

Francis rose from his place and crossed to the window which overlooked Arthur's garden. The Brit watched him, eyes narrowed. "This is a beau garden, cher," said Francis. "Et look at all those belles roses rouge! I think you have what you need, chéri." He winked at the Englishman who sighed and rolled his eyes.

Standing, Arthur made his way over to stand beside him. "I understand the concept of giving flowers, thank you," he said, icily. "It's what to say when I hand them over." And how to act, he thought to himself.

For a moment, Francis tapped his chin. Then he smiled at Arthur – the Brit had a bad feeling. "Why not act it out with moi before you try it with Matthieu? Say what you think you should say et then I can tell you whether it needs... work."

Arthur looked at him dubiously. "Well..."

After insisting that Arthur put on his best suit, the Brit stood at the door to his own living room, a bouquet of roses in his hand. He fussed over it, tweaking them into better positions. Finally, he deemed them satisfactory. However, he then glanced into a mirror and noticed that his tie was crooked. He began to fiddle with it, dreading having to knock on the closed door of his own room.

Eventually, he heard a cough from inside. Francis was getting impatient. He sighed, took a breath and then knocked on the door. There was a brief period of time where Arthur thought that Francis wasn't going to open the door and he had been fooled. Suddenly, though, the door was opened and the sight that met him almost had him burst out in laughter.

The Frenchman had found one of Matthew's many Canadian hooded jumpers and had pulled that on. He had then styled his hair to match the Canadian and had even stuck in a curl of wire he had procured from somewhere. A pair of Arthur's glasses was perched on his nose and he had an overly surprised expression on his face, a hand to his heart.

"Mon Dieu! Arthur! I did not expect to see you today!" Francis smiled down at him.

Arthur resisted the impulse to snort. He cleared his throat and held out the flowers. "These are for you. If you want them. I mean, if you don't, I can just take them back. Well, they won't go back on the bush but..." His eyes widened and his words caught in his throat. He was becoming flustered again, thinking of Matthew. Reddening, he tried to continue. "Well, uh... This is... just a... birthday gift," he finished lamely, not able to say what he really wanted to.

After a short pause, Francis took the glasses off and looked at him, an eyebrow raised. "Well... It is a good start, I suppose... Mais... Try not to talk about the fleurs, oui? Say, 'these are for you' et then you leave it at that."

"Um, yes, I see. But what do I say-?"

"Non, non. Try again by yourself," said Francis as he closed the door.

The poor British man blinked and sighed. He didn't want to do this any more. Wishing he had never asked Francis for help, he knocked on the door once again. The Frenchman answered, wearing the glasses again.

"Ah, bonjour, Arthur! I did not expect to see- Oh?" he said, pretending to see the flowers for the first time. "Are those for me?"

"Uh... Yes," said Arthur, glancing away. He held the roses at arm's length, biting at his lip. They were gently taken from him by Francis. "I-I picked them myself," he added, unsure of what to say.

"Magnifique!" exclaimed Francis. Arthur glanced at him and found him grinning happily. "Merci, Arthur, merci!"

Arthur's suspension of disbelief evaporated. "You're being way too loud Frog! And he doesn't speak in French when he's around me."

With a sigh, Francis shrugged. "Fine. I will go back inside and we will try again." He shoved the roses back into Arthur's arms and swung the door shut.

"Be careful!" snapped Arthur as he watched it swing to. Grumbling to himself about Frogs and their legs, Arthur knocked on the door once again. Francis opened it immediately, trying not to scowl. He forced a smile. "Hello, Arthur. How are you?" he asked in a quiet voice.

The smaller man froze. It was unbelievable how much Francis sounded like Matthew in that instance. His eyes widened and he moved his mouth to speak – nothing came out. A rustling sound alerted him to the presence of the bouquet and he held it out. "... F-For you..." he managed to whisper.

"Are you all right, cher?" asked Francis in his normal voice, sounding genuinely concerned.

"Y-Yes," Arthur managed. He cleared his throat. "Yes, I'm fine!" he snapped. "Just get on with it!"

"I will go back in. Let us try that again." The Frenchman retreated back in and gently closed the door. For what felt like the millionth time, Arthur knocked on the door and Francis answered. "Hello, Arthur," he said once again, his voice quiet and calm. "What brings you here?"

"Um. Well... Here." He handed over the flowers. Francis acted surprised and took them, smiling. "I... wanted to give you this present."

"Vrai- Really?" Francis corrected himself. "They are very beautiful, cher- Arthur. Thank you."

Arthur nodded, ignoring the French. "Well, I just looked out of my window and saw these growing. I thought of you and- I mean, I thought- I remembered your birthday and thought... Well, you always loved my flowers. So, these would be a good present, or so I thought."

"They are a fantastic present Arthur. Thank you for thinking about me," said Francis with a kind smile. He looked so much like Matthew – except for the beard – that Arthur felt his heart racing. He had to do the next bit as Francis had encouraged. They had to discuss the love thing. And he was feeling nervous. "But..." Francis continued. Arthur's heart stopped in fear and confusion. "These are red roses – and there are a dozen of them. You do know what that means, oui- don't you?"

The Brit froze once again. Of course he knew what it meant. That was the whole intention, according to Francis. But what was he supposed to say now? Or do? "Um, well. Yes, but... I mean... It's a birthday present," he said lamely, not sure whether that would help or not.

"Is it just a birthday present?" asked Francis with a slight frown.

It nearly killed Arthur to see someone so like Matthew frowning at him. He wasn't sure if this was because of love or some other emotion but it caused him to turn red again. He could also feel himself tearing up a little. "It's- It's not just... I mean, if you want it to just be... It can be something... You can... Um..."

Francis placed a gentle hand on Arthur's arm. "It is okay, Arthur. I think I understand. You are trying to tell me that you love me, yes?"

Taking a deep breath, Arthur willed himself to say it. He closed his eyes for a moment. Say it! Say it! I love you. Three words. Say them. He looked up at Francis again, straight in the eye and opened his mouth. "I..." He trailed off when he noticed Francis' expression. The Frenchman looked smug, as if Arthur was playing straight into his hands. And Arthur realised that he had been about to say 'I love you' to Francis. Not to Matthew, but to Francis – of all people! And he had no doubt in his mind that Francis was going to take advantage of it. His eyes narrowed and he spoke. "I hate you, you stupid wine bastard! How dare you try to trick me into declaring any sort of feelings for you! Get out of my house, you berk!"

The Frenchman looked taken aback. Then he scowled. "This is what I get for helping you, Rosbif. I should remember this for the next time!"

"I doubt you'll be able to keep your big nose out of my business!"

"It is not just your business, you lourdaud thé suceurs batard. It is Matthieu's business et mine, by extension. I was only trying to help."

"I don't need your help! Get out!"

"That was not what you were saying earlier. Who will you ask for help now?"

"I have friends, you know! I will just ask them. Now get out of my house, Frog!"

"I did not want to stay here much longer, anyway," said Francis spitefully, glaring at Arthur. "You will never be able to say 'I love you' to anyone important."

Arthur watched him leave, making sure he left the grounds before slamming the front door shut. One of his embroideries which decorated the hall fell. He sighed as he picked it up and replaced it. Glancing at the roses he had thrown onto a table, Arthur passed a hand across his face, trying to control his emotions. Francis was right, as much as he hated to admit it – he doubted he would ever be able to tell Matthew how he felt. If he ever figured out how he did feel, at any rate.

"I need help," he muttered to himself. But who could he ask?

So, it may be confusing because I wanted Arthur to be confused about how he's feeling to begin with. He doesn't know whether he loves him or not, if he still thinks of him as a brother or not, if he can love Matthew, etc, etc. So, the story might feel a little at odds with itself. At the moment, Arthur doesn't want to lose Matthew and thinks that, unless he tells Matthew "I love you", that's exactly what will happen.

Francis calls Arthur a "clumsy tea-sucking bastard" when they exchange insults towards the end. (It was going to be "tea-sucking oaf" but then I translated it into French and it came out "clumsy tea-sucking".)

I just realised that Francis must have taken the glasses and hoodie with him. Whoops. Oh, well.

I enjoyed writing Francis and Arthur arguing. I don't think I've ever properly done that where they don't llove each other before - new things are fun! :)