"Hahaha, oh wow, Antonio, you just have to feel this bed!" Francis looked at his two friends frustratingly while they were sitting on his bed, bouncing. "I just made that," he sighed, grabbed a chair and went to the balcony. He sat down and lit a cigarette, all the while hearing the other two rummaging through his just furbished apartment. Soon after came Antonio, three glasses and a bottle of wine in his hands. "To us three," he said when looking at Gilbert dragging two more chairs. They filled the glasses and toasted, feeling as merry as ever. Francis noticed that the window leading to Arthur's balcony was also opened and hoped that his friends wouldn't notice it (he was sure those two would start yelling and doing other stupid things). He saw that his balcony had a little metal bench with pillows on it, a table and a shelf, countless cold-proof plants in pots on them. "Must be his little time-out corner," the Frenchman smiled to himself and kept pretending to listen to his friends chatter about women, alcohol and food, while he himself thought what a man like his neighbor would do on his free time. A minute later he saw Bosey enter the balcony, sniff air and go back inside. Having already realized that the dog was a weird one, Francis had no attention of trying to understand the meaning behind its actions. He was surprised to see it return, dragging something with his teeth. On closer inspection it seemed to be a cardigan of Arthur's. Bosey dragged it to the middle of the balcony, where the Sun was the brightest (aka the warmest), and laid on top of it. "What a clever dog!" Francis was amazed: it came to check the weather and how cold the floor was, only to return with something he would be comfortable with. Antonio and Gilbert noticed how Francis was staring at something in awe. Following his gaze they saw the dog lazing off in the warmth of the Sun. "Having fun there, Francis?" Gilbert asked with a grin, snapping the man back to their conversation. "No, I just... I'm just amazed how smart animals are," he replied, looking back at the dog. "I agree. Animals are smart. Well, smarter than Gilbert, at least," Antonio giggled and poured himself another glass of wine. "Bosey!" They heard Arthur yell from the inside and a moment later they saw him enter the balcony. "I just washed that, you stupid mutt," he grumbled and tried to persuade the dog to come off it, but to no avail. "He has a nice figure," Gilbert said smugly, earning a smack from Francis. "Mon dieu, don't tell me I can't have other male friends beside you two. Do I need to start protecting him from you, you slut?" Gilbert giggled and told him he's just joking and continued to reminiscence about the good times he had had with Eduard, telling them all the while that this guy was the only man he had ever needed. Francis looked back to his neighbor only to see that he was gone. Slightly disappointed, he sipped his wine, when Arthur came back holding a light brown fleece blanket. "Here," he could hear him say when he watched him lay it down on the floor. Bosey switched places and Arthur could finally take back his cardigan. Sighing, he battered it from dust and went back inside. "He seems like the sheltered type," Antonio said after a while. "Well, think about it," he continued after getting a questioning look from his two friends, "look how neatly he's dressed. He's about our age, lives alone with a dog. He probably has a boring job and barely gets out. Most likely he spends his free time reading books, drinking cups of tea and sprouting that English gibberish like "lolly-gagging" and "jolly good show, ol' chap" and that sort of thing. I still can't believe we're going to a pub with a guy like him." "I don't know," drawled Gilbert, "I haven't really met a British person before, so I can't be really sure how they behave, although I think good old Artie here is the stuck-up type. I'm pretty sure you get your knowledge from dumb movies, Antonio, and if I follow that logic I could say that Francis feeds off baguettes, frog's legs, red wine and cigarettes, but we both know that's not true." "Yeah, and besides," Francis joined, "I've had a few chances to talk to the man and he seems like a reasonable guy. He really knows the art of speaking, though: he says so much yet so little at the same time, so I can't say I have a full grasp on him." "I don't know, I still get the feeling that he's our stereotypical wealthy poor British guy," Antonio persuaded. Not getting an answer from his two friends and unsatisfied with the fact that he had been put off by them, Antonio started to pour himself another glass only to find out that the bottle had been emptied.
Slowly the day crept into the night and it was 7 o'clock when Francis turned off the stove. "I am so glad I'm friends with you," Gilbert said as he hungrily looked at the pot of magnificent Italian pasta the cook was bringing to the table. "Tagliatelles aux fruits de mer. Dig in." The three started lifting the pasta to their plates when they were interrupted by a sudden clatter on the other side of the wall with a loud "son of a bitch" following it. Immediately Francis, Gilbert and Antonio were out the apartment and knocking on Arthur's door. "What?" demanded an irritated Arthur after opening the door, ceasing Antonio's and Gilbert's giggling. "We heard a loud noise, is everything alright?" asked Francis, at the same time trying to get a glimpse of his neighbor's place without notice. "Yeah, everything's alright," Arthur answered, having calmed down a bit. "It's just that Bosey decided to play a log again. I tripped over him and broke the dishes I just had finished washing." "That's too bad. Hey, why won't you join us for dinner? Francis made a lot of delicious pasta," Antonio smiled and nudged Francis, earning an unsure where-are-you-going-with-this look from the latter. "Oh, no, I wouldn't mean to trouble you, you have fun," Arthur tried to deny the offer but to no avail. A minute later he was once again in his neighbor's nice apartment, sitting across the table from Francis. "Isn't that nice, now every side of the table has an eater," Gilbert smugly said and continued to stuff his face. The dinner itself was lively thanks to Antonio and Gilbert, but Francis couldn't help but to think that Arthur was feeling a little awkward, a little out of place, so to speak. He wanted to strike a conversation with him, wanted to know more of him, but he was unsure of how his friends would behave, when suddenly Antonio addressed Arthur himself. "Man, that pasta sure is great, right, Arthur?" Arthur nodded. "It's delicious." Francis sighed in relief - he wasn't quite sure why, but the fact that Arthur enjoyed the food he had made was encouraging. "Can you cook?" he asked. Arthur laughed. "Only as much as I need to get myself by," he gruffly said and took some more pasta. "Oh yeah, I've been meaning to ask you," Gilbert said and Francis grew uneasy, "this English breakfast, it has all sorts of nice, delicious greasy things in it, right? Sausages, bacon, mushrooms, tomatoes - all roasted up nice. Don't get me wrong, I like greasy meat - yeah, yeah, laugh away, Antonio, you pervert - but eating that stuff every day? Isn't that... a bit unhealthy?" Arthur shook his head. "We don't eat it that often, heck, I only eat it when I visit my parents. No one really has that for breakfast anymore, it's too heavy and a little sickening, to be honest." "Oh, so it's another stereotype?" "Yes. Just like Francis doesn't live off baguettes, frog's legs, red wine and cigarettes, I don't feed off fish 'n' chips, English breakfast, scones and tea," he answered and took a sip of the white wine Francis had poured to everyone. Antonio and Gilbert exchanged awkward looks realizing that Arthur must have heard practically every comment they had made. Francis was ashamed of the two and with a sigh he took the dirty dishes and went for the sink.